THE   COMEDIES    OF   SHAKESPEARE 


Plate  i 

•'KILL  CLAUDIO" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  iv.,  scene  i. 


■-■(»  «l.'>.\'4l.  rv. 


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Copyright,  1895,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Complete  in  4  Dols. 

IDolume  II. 

MUCH    ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING 

AS   YOU   LIKE   IT 

THE   COMEDY   OF   ERRORS 

THE  TEMPEST 


^i^dt  /tJ'OiJ 


LIST    OF    PHOTOGRAVURES 


^ucb  BDo  Bbout  IWotbing 


1.  KILL   CLAUDIO 

2.  WHAT,    MY    DEAR    LADY     DISDAIN  ! 

ARE    YOU    YET   LIVING  ? 

3.  WILL    YOU    HAVE    ME,   LADY  ? 

4.  ONLY    TO    DESPITE    THEM,    I    WILL 

ENDEAVOUR   ANYTHING 

5.  SIGH   NO   MORE,  LADIES 


6.  AGAINST    MY    WILL,    I    AM    SENT    TO 

BID    YOU   COME   IN   TO   DINNER 

7.  she's    LIM'd,    I    WARRANT    YOU 

8.  DOST  THOU  NOT  SUSPECT  MY  PLACE ' 

g.  DONE  TO  DEATH  BY  SLANDEROUS 
TONGUES  WAS  THE  HERO  THAT 
HERE   LIES 


as  lou  Xifte  IFt 


10.    WILT    THOU    LAY    HANDS    ON    ME, 
VILLAIN  ? 


II.    HE    CALLS     US     BACK.        MY    PRIDE 
FELL   WITH   MY   FORTUNES 


12.    MISTRESS,     DISPATCH     YOU     WITH 
YOUR   SAFEST   HASTE 


13.  ORLANDO   AND   ADAM 

14.  IN   THE    FOREST 


15.  JAQUES 

16.  IT    IS    TEN    o'clock.       THUS     MAY 

WE    SEE,    QUOTH    HE,    HOW   THE 
WORLD   WAGS 

17.  GIVE   ME   YOUR    HAND,  ORLANDO 

18.  AUDREY 

19.  YOU    DO    LOVE   THIS    MAID  ? 


Zbc  (Iome&B  of  Errors 


20.  GO    REAR   IT   TO   THE   CENTAUR 

21.  WHAT    MEAN    YOU,    SIR? 

22.  WHY,  MISTRESS,  SURE   MY  MASTER 

IS    HORN-MAD 

23.  AY,  AY,  ANTIPHOLUS,  LOOK  STRANGE 

AND   FROWN 


24.  LET  MY  MASTER  IN,  LUCE 

25.  TEACH  ME,  DEAR  CREATURE 

26.  OH,  BIND  HIM,  BIND  HIM,  LET  HIM 

NOT  COME  NEAR  ME 

27.  METHINKS  YOU  ARE  MY  GLASS,  AND 

NOT  MY  BROTHER 


LIST  OF  PHOTOGRAVURES 


^be  tempest 


28.  THE   SHIPWRECK 

2g.  WHERE   SHOULD   THIS   MUSIC   BE? 

30.  TRINCULO   AND    CALIBAN 

31.  FERDINAND   MEETS   MIRANDA 

32.  CALIBAN,  STEFANO,  AND  TRINCULO 

(ARIEL   INVISIBLE) 


33.  THE  BANQUET 

34.  THE   SPELL 

35.  MIRANDA   AND   FERDINAND 

36.  PROSPERO   AND   ARIEL 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED 

Don  Pedro, /V/z/r^' ^yArragon. 
Don  John,  his  bastard  Brother. 
Claudio,  a  young  Lord  of  Y\orQV\ce,  favorite 

to  Don  Pedro. 
Benedick,  a  young  Lord  of  V^dm.,  favorite 

likewise  of  Don  Pedro. 
Leonato,  Governor  of  Messina. 
Antonio,  his  Brother. 
Balthazar,  Servant  to  Don  Pedro. 

BORACHIO     )       Z7    7/  r  T-l  T      1 

CoNRADE    \  ^^^^"-^^''^^  'f  Don  John. 

Dogberry  )  ^      j-    j-  ?  ^yr 
Verges        \  ^'^^o  foolish  Officers. 

A  Sexton. 
A  Friar. 
A  Boy. 

Hero,  Daughter  to  Leonato. 

Beatrice,  Niece  to  Leonato. 

Margaret  )  ^^     ,,  j^    j-  tr 

TT  )■  Gentle7vomen  attending  on  Hero. 

Messengers,  Watch,  and  Attendants. 
Scene,  Messina. 


Much  Ado  About  Nothim 


ACT   I 

Scene  I. — Enter  Leonato,  Governor  of  Alessina,  Imo- 
gen his  wife,  Hero  his  datighter,  and  Beatrice  his 
niece,  with  a  Messenger. 

1EONATO.    I  learn  in  this  letter  that  Don  Pedro 
of  Arragon  comes  this  night  to  Messina. 
_^     Mess.    He   is  very  near  by  this ;    he  was   not 
three  leagues  off  when  I  left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in  this 
action } 

Mess.  But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 

Leon.  A  victory  is  twice  itself  when  the  achiever 
brings  home  full  numbers.  I  find  here  that  Don  Pedro 
hath  bestowed  much  honour  on  a  young  Florentine 
called  Claudio. 

Mess.  Much  deserved  on  his  part,  and  equally  remem- 
bered by  Don  Pedro :  he  hath  borne  himself  beyond 
the  promise  of  his  age ;  doing,  in  the  figure  of  a  lamb, 
the  feats  of  a  lion :  he  hath,  indeed,  better  bettered  ex- 
pectation than  you  must  expect  of  me  to  tell  you  how. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be  very 
much  glad  of  it. 

Mess.  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and  there 
appears  much  joy  in  him  ;  even  so  much,  that  joy  could 
not  show  itself  modest  enough  without  a  badge  of  bit- 
terness. 

Leon.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears  1 

Mess.  In  great  measure. 


4  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Leon.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness  :  there  are  no  faces 
truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How  much  better 
is  it  to  weep  at  joy  than  to  joy  at  weeping? 

Beat.  I  pray  you,  is  Signior  Montanto  returned  from 
the  wars,  or  no  ? 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady;  there  was 
none  such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece } 

Hero.  My  cousin  means  Signior  Benedick  of  Padua. 

Mess.  Oh,  he's  returned,  and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he 
was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina,  and  chal- 
lenged Cupid  at  the  flight :  and  my  uncle's  fool,  reading 
the  challenge,  subscribed  for  Cupid,  and  challenged 
him  at  the  bird-bolt.  I  pray  you,  how  many  hath  he 
killed  and  eaten  in  these  wars }  But  how  many  hath 
he  killed }  for,  indeed,  I  promised  to  eat  all  of  his 
killing. 

Leon.  Faith,  niece,  you  tax  Signior  Benedick  too 
much ;  but  he'll  be  meet  with  you,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Mess.   He  had  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these  wars. 

Beat.  You  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  helped  to 
eat  it:  he's  a  very  valiant  trencher-man,  he  hath  an 
excellent  stomach. 

Mess.  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady.  But  what  is  he 
to  a  lord  } 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man ;  stuffed 
with  all  honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed ;  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuffed 
man  ;  but  for  the  stuffing, — well,  we  are  all  mortal. 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece ;  there  is 
a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  Signior  Benedick  and  her; 
they  never  meet  but  there's  a  skirmish  of  wit  between 
them. 

Beat.  Alas,  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last 
conflict,  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off,  and  now 
is  the  whole  man  governed  with  one ;  so  that  if  he  have 
wit  enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  him  bear  it  for  a 
difference  between  himself  and  his  horse :  for  it  is  all 


MUCH  ADO^  ABOUT  NOTHING  5 

the  wealth  that  he  hath  left,  to  be  known  a  reasonable 
creature. — Who  is  his  companion  now  ?  He  hath  every 
month  a  new  sworn  brother. 

Mess.  Is't  possible } 

Beat.  Very  easily  possible:  he  wears  his  faith  but 
as  the  fashion  of  his  hat,  it  ever  changes  with  the  next 
block. 

Mess.  I  see,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  your  books. 

Beat.  No :  and  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  study. 
But,  I  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion }  Is  there  no 
young  squarer  now,  that  will  make  a  voyage  with  him 
to  the  devil  1 

Mess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right  noble 
Claudio. 

Beat.  O  Lord  !  he  will  hang  upon  him  like  a  disease  : 
he  is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilence,  and  the  taker 
runs  presently  mad.  God  help  the  noble  Claudio!  if 
he  have  caught  the  Benedick,  it  will  cost  him  a  thou- 
sand pound  ere  he  be  cured. 

Mess.  I  will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beat.  Do,  good  friend. 

Leo7t.  You'll  ne'er  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.  No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

Mess.  Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Balthazar,  and 
John  the  Bastard. 

Pedro.  Good  Signior  Leonato,  you  are  come  to 
meet  your  trouble:  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to  avoid 
cost,  and  you  encounter  it. 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the  like- 
ness of  your  grace:  for  trouble  being  gone,  comfort 
should  remain  ;  but,  when  you  depart  from  me,  sorrow 
abides,  and  happiness  takes  his  leave. 

Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge  too  willingly. — I 
think  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leon.   Her  mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so. 

Bene.  Were  you  in  doubt  that  you  asked  her? 

Lco7t.  Signior  Benedick,  no;  for  then  were  you  a  child. 


6  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Pedro.  You  have  it  fully,  Benedick  :  we  may  guess  by 
this  what  you  are,  being  a  man.  Truly,  the  lady  fathers 
herself:  be  happy,  lady!  for  you  are  like  an  honorable 
father. 

Bene.  If  Signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she  would 
not  have  his  head  on  her  shoulders  for  all  Messina,  as 
like  him  as  she  is. 

Beat.  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking,  Signior 
Benedick  ;  nobody  marks  you. 

Bene.  What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain !  are  you  yet  liv- 

Beat.  Is  it  possible  Disdain  should  die,  while  she 
hath  such  meet  food  to  feed  it  as  Signior  Benedick  ? 
Courtesy  itself  must  convert  to  Disdain,  if  you  come  in 
her  presence. 

Bene.  Then  is  Courtesy  a  turn-coat:  but  it  is  cer- 
tain I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted,  and  I 
would  I  could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not  a  hard 
heart ;  for,  truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.  A  dear  happiness  to  women ;  they  would  else 
have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  I  thank 
God  and  my  cold  blood  I  am  of  your  humour  for  that; 
I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow  than  a  man 
swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  !  so 
some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predestinate 
scratched  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  and  'twere 
such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 

Beat.  A  bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a  beast  of 
yours. 

Bene.  I  would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue;  and  so  good  a  continuer:  but  keep  your 
way  in  God's  name ;   I  have  done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick ;  I  know 
you  of  old. 

Pedro.  This  is  the  sum  of  all :  Leonato, — Signior 
Claudio  and  Signior  Benedick, — my  dear  friend  Leo- 
nato hath  invited  you  all.     I   tell   him  we   shall    stay 


PL A  IE   2 

WHAT.  MY    DEAR    LADY  DISDAIN!     ARE   YOU   YET    l.IV 

ING?" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  i..  scene  i. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  7 

here  at  the  least  a  month,  and  he  heartily  prays  some 
occasion  may  detain  us  longer:  I  dare  swear  he  is  no 
hypocrite,  but  prays  from  his  heart. 

Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be  for- 
sworn. Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord  ;  being  rec- 
onciled to  the  prince  your  brother,  I  owe  you  all  duty. 

John.  I  thank  you :  I  am  not  of  many  words,  but  I 
thank  you. 

Leo7i.  Please  it,  your  grace,  lead  on.? 

Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato ;  we  will  go  together. 

\^Exeunt.     Manet  Benedick  rt;7/^CLAUDio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter  of 
Signior  Leonato  ? 

Bene.  I  noted  her  not ;  but  I  looked  on  her. 

Claiid.  Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady.^* 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man  should 
do,  for  my  simple,  true  judgment;  or  would  you  have 
me  speak  after  my  custom,  as  being  a  professed  tyrant 
to  their  sex  "l 

Claiid.  No,  I  pray  thee  speak  in  sober  judgment. 

Bene.  Why,  i'faith,  methinks  she's  too  low  for  a  high 
praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too  little  for  a 
great  praise :  only  this  commendation  I  can  afford  her — 
that  were  she  other  than  she  is,  she  were  unhandsome ; 
and  being  no  other  but  as  she  is,  I  do  not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  thinkest  I  am  in  sport;  I  pray  thee, 
tell  me  truly  how  thou  likest  her. 

Bene.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  after  her.? 

Claud.  Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel  t 

Bene.  Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.  But  speak  you 
this  with  a  sad  brow.?  or  do  you  play  the  flouting  Jack, 
to  tell  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-finder,  and  Vulcan  a 
rare  carpenter.?  Come,  in  what  key  shall  a  man  take 
you  to  go  in  the  song.? 

Claud.  In  mine  eye,  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  that 
ever  I  looked  on. 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  see 
no  such  matter:  there's  her  cousin,  and  she  were  not 
possessed  with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  in  beauty 
as  the  first  of  May  does  the  last  of  December.     But 


8  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

I  hope  you  have  no  intent  to  turn  husband,  have 
you  ? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I  had 
sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is  it  come  to  this,  i'faith  ?  Hath  not  the  world 
one  man  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  suspicion? 
Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  threescore  again  ?  Go 
to,  i'faith ;  and  thou  wilt  needs  thrust  thy  neck  into  a 
yoke,  wear  the  print  of  it,  and  sigh  away  Sundays. 
Look,  Don  Pedro  is  returned  to  seek  you. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  a7td  John  the  Bastard. 

Pedro.  What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that  you 
followed  not  to  Leonato's } 

Bene.  I  would  your  grace'  would  constrain  me  to  tell. 

Pedro.   I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear.  Count  Claudio ;  I  can  be  secret  as 
a  dumb  man,  I  would  have  you  think  so;  but  on  my 
allegiance, —  mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance  —  he  is 
in  love.  With  who? — now  that  is  your  grace's  part. — 
Mark  how  short  his  answer  is — with  Hero,  Leonato's 
short  daughter. 

Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered. 

Bene,  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord :  it  is  not  so,  nor 
'twas  not  so ;  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should  be  so. 

Cland.  If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God  forbid 
it  should  be  otherwise. 

Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her,  for  the  lady  is  very 
well  worthy. 

Claud.  You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

Pedro.  By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Claud.  And,  in  faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths  my  lord,  I 
speak  mine. 

Claud.  That  I  love  her,  I  feel. 

Pedro.  That  she  is  worthy,  I  know. 

Bene.  That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be  loved, 
nor  know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the  opinion  that 
fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me ;   I  will  die  in  it  at  the  stake. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  9 

Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic  in  the 
despite  of  beauty. 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part  but  in  the 
force  of  his  will. 

Bene.  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her; 
that  she  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her  most  hum- 
ble thanks;  but  that  I  will  have  a  recheat  winded  in 
my  forehead,  or  hang  my  bugle  in  an  invisible  baldrick, 
all  women  shall  pardon  me;  because  I  will  not  do 
them  the  wrong  to  mistrust  any,  I  will  do  myself  the 
right  to  trust  none;  and  the  fine  is  (for  the  w^iich  I 
may  go  the  finer),  I  will  live  a  bachelor. 

Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale  with  love. 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger,  my 
lord,  not  with  love:  prove  that  ever  I  lose  more  blood 
with  love  than  I  will  get  again  with  drinking,  pick  out 
mine  eyes  with  a  ballad-makers  pen,  and  hang  me  up 
at  the  door  of  a  brothel-house  for  the  sign  of  blind 
Cupid. 

Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this  faith, 
thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 

Bene.  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,  and 
shoot  at  me ;  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped 
on  the  shoulder,  and  called  Adam. 

Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  try:  In  time  the  savage 
bull  doth  bear  the  yoke. 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may,  but  if  ever  the  sensible 
Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull's  horns,  and  set 
them  in  my  forehead ;  and  let  me  be  vilely  painted, 
and  in  such  great  letters  as  they  write.  Here  is  a  good 
horse  to  hire,  let  them  signify  under  my  sign — Here  you 
may  see  Benedick  the  married  man. 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  wouldst  be 
horn-mad. 

Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his  quiver  in 
Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Bene.  I  look  for  an  earthquake,  too,  then. 

Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the  hours.  In 
the  meantime,  good  Signior  Benedick,  repair  to  Leo- 
nato's,  commend  me  to  him,  and  tell  him  I  will  not  fail 


lo  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

him  at  supper;  for,  indeed,  he  hath  made  great  prepa- 
ration. 

Bene.  I  have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for  such 
an  embassage,  and  so  I  commit  you — 

Claud.  To  the  tuition  of  God.  From  my  house,  if  I 
had  it — 

Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July.  Your  loving  friend.  Bene- 
dick. 

Bene.  Nay,  mock  not,  m.ock  not.  The  body  of  your 
discourse  is  sometimes  guarded  with  fragments,  and 
the  guards  are  but  lightly  basted  on  neither;  ere  you 
flout  old  ends  any  further,  examine  your  conscience, 
and  so  I  leave  you. 

\^Exif. 

Claud.  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me 
good. 

Pedro.  My  love  is  thine  to  teach  ;  teach  it  but  how. 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.   Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord.'* 

Pedro.  No  child  but  Hero,  she's  his  only  heir. 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  O  my  lord, 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  looked  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye, 
That  lik'd,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love : 
But  now  I  am  return'd,  and  that  war-thous^hts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant ;  in  their  rooms 
Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desires. 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 
Saying,  I  lik'd  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently, 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words : 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it. 
And  I  will  break  with  her, 
Was't  not  to  this  end 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  .f* 

Claud.  How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love, 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion ! 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  ii 

But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 
Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader  than  the 
flood  ? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity: 
Look,  what  will  serve,  is  fit:  'tis  once,  thou  lov'st, 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night; 
1  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise, 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio ; 
And  in  her  bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart. 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale  : 
Then,  after,  to  her  father  will  I  break  ; 
And,  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine: 
In  practice  let  us  put  it  presently.  {^Exeunt. 

Scene   II. — Enter  Leonato  and  an  Old   Man,  brother 

to  Leonato. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  ?  Where  is  my  cousin,  your 
son.!*     Hath  he  provided  this  music? 

Old.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother,  I  can 
tell  you  news  that  you  yet  dreamed  not  of. 

Leon.  Are  they  good.^* 

Old.  As  the  events  stamp  them  ;  but  they  have  a 
good  cover,  they  show  well  outward.  The  prince  and 
Count  Claudio,  walking  in  a  thick-pleashed  alley  in 
my  orchard,  were  thus  overheard  by  a  man  of  mine. 
The  prince  discovered  to  Claudio  that  he  loved  my 
niece  your  daughter,  and  meant  to  acknowledge  it  this 
night  in  a  dance  ;  and,  if  he  found  her  accordant,  he 
meant  to  take  the  present  time  by  the  top,  and  instantly 
break  with  you  of  it. 

Leon.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit  that  told  you  this  ? 

Old.  A  good  sharp  fellow;  I  will  send  for  him,  and 
question  him  yourself. 

Leon.  No,  no ;  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream  till  it  ap- 
pears itself:  but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter  withal, 
that  she  may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an  answer,  if 
peradventure  this  be  true.     Go,  you,  and  tell  her  of' it. 


12  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  Oh,  I  cry  you 
mercy,  friend  ;  go  you  with  me,  and  I  will  use  your  skill. 
Good  cousins,  have  a  care  this  busy  time.  \_Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Enter  Sir  John  the  Bastard,  and  Con- 
RADE  his  companion. 

Con.  What  the  good  year,  my  lord!  why  are  you 
thus  out  of  measure  sad  ? 

John.  There  is  no  measure  in  l^he  occasion  that 
breeds,  therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Con.  You  should  hear  reason. 

John.  And  when  1  have  heard  it,  what  blessing 
bringeth  it  ? 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  yet  a  patient  suffer- 
ance. 

John.  I  wonder  that  thou,  bejng  (as  thou  say'st  thou 
art)  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to  apply  a  moral 
medicine  to  a  mortifying  mischief.  I  cannot  hide  what 
I  am  :  I  must  be  sad  when  I  have  cause,  and  smile 
at  no  man's  jests ;  eat  when  I  have  stomach,  and  wait 
for  no  man's  leisure ;  sleep  when  I  am  drowsy,  and 
tend  on  no  man's  business;  laugh  when  I  am  merry, 
and  claw  no  man  in  his  humour. 

Coii.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show  of 
this  till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment.  You  have 
of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother,  and  he  hath  ta'en 
you  newly  into  his  grace,  where  it  is  impossible  you 
should  take  true  root  but  by  the  fair  weather  that  you 
make  yourself :  it  is  needful  that  you  frame  the  season 
for  your  own  harvest. 

John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge  than  a 
rose  in  his  grace ;  and  it  better  fits  my  blood  to  be 
disdained  of  all  than  to  fashion  a  carriao;e  to  rob  love 
from  any;  m  this,  though  I  cannot  be  said  to  be  a  flat- 
tering honest  man,  it  must  not  be  denied  that  I  am  a 
plain-dealing  villain.  I  am  trusted  with  a  muzzle,  and 
enfranchised  with  a  clog;  therefore  I  have  decreed 
not  to  sing  in  my  cage.  If  I  had  my  mouth,  I  would 
bite;  if  I  had  my  liberty,   I  would  do  my  liking:    in 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  13 

the  meantime  let  me  be  that  I  am,  and  seek  not  to 
alter  me. 

Con.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent? 

John.  I  will  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only.  Who 
comes  here  ?     What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Enter  Borachio. 

Bora.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper ;  the 
prince,  your  brotlrer,  is  royally  entertained  by  Leonato, 
and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended  mar- 
riage. 

John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  mischief 
on  ?  What  is  he  for  a  fool  that  betroths  himself  to 
unquietness } 

Bora.  Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand. 

John.  Who }  the  most  exquisite  Claudio } 

Bora.  Even  he. 

John.  A  proper  squire !  And  who,  and  who,  which 
way  looks  he  } 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of  Leo- 
nato. 

John.  A  very  forward  March  chick  !  How  came  you 
to  this  1 

Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  was 
smoking  a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince  and 
Claudio,  hand  in  hand,  in  sad  conference.  I  whipt  be- 
hind the  arras,  and  there  heard  it  agreed  upon  that 
the  prince  should  woo  Hero  for  himself,  and,  having 
obtained  her,  give  her  to  Count  Claudio. 

John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither;  this  may  prove 
food  to  my  displeasure:  that  young  start-up  hath  all 
the  glory  of  my  overthrow;  if  I  can  cross  him  any  way, 
I  bless  myself  every  way.  You  are  both  sure,  and  will 
assist  me } 

Con.  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

John.  Let  us  to  the  great  supper ;  their  cheer  is  the 
greater  that  I  am  subdued.  Would  the  cook  were  of 
my  mind  !     Shall  we  go  prove  what's  to  be  done  } 

Bora.  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  \_ExeunL 


14  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 


ACT    II 

Scene  I. — Enter  Leonato,  his  brother,  his  wife,  Hero 
his  daughter,  and  Beatrice  his  niece,  and  a  kinsman. 

Leon.  Was  not  Count  John  here  at  supper  ? 

Bra.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks !  I  never  can 
see  him  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour  after. 

Hero.   He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man  that  were  made 
just  in  the  mid-way  between  him  and  Benedick :  the 
one  is  too  like  an  image,  and  says  nothing,  and  the 
other  too  like  my  lady's  eldest  son,  evermore  tattling. 

Leon.  Then  half  Siguier  Benedick's  tongue  in  Count 
John's  mouth,  and  half  Count  John's  melancholy  in 
Signior  Benedick's  face. 

Beat.  With  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot,  uncle,  and 
money  enough  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  would  win  any 
woman  in  the  world — if  he  could  get  her  good-will. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get  thee  a 
husband  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 

Bro.  In  faith,  she's  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst ;  I  shall  lessen 
God's  sending  that  way,  for  it  is  said,  God  sends  a  curst 
cow  short  horns  ;  but  to  a  cow  too  curst  he  sends  none. 

Leo7i.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you  no 
horns. 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband,  for  the  which 
blessing  I  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every  morning 
and  evening.  Lord !  I  could  not  endure  a  husband 
with  a  beard  on  his  face ;  I  had  rather  lie  in  the  wool- 
len. 

Leon.  You  may  light  upon  a  husband  that  hath  no 
beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him }  dress  him  in  my 
apparel,  and  make  him  my  waiting  gentlewoman  "^  He 
that  hath  a  beard,  is  more  than  a  youth  ;  and  he  that 
hath  no  beard,  is  less  than  a  man ;  and  he  that  is  more 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  15 

than  a  youth,  is  not  for  me ;  and  he  that  is  less  than  a 
man,  I  am  not  for  him.  Therefore  I  will  even  take 
sixpence  in  earnest  of  the  bear-herd,  and  lead  his  apes 
into  hell. 

Leon.  Well,  then,  go  you  into  hell  ? 

Beat.  No  ;  but  to  the  gate,  and  there  will  the  devil 
meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horns  on  his  head, 
and  say,  Get  yott  to  heaven,  Beatrice,  get  you  to  heaven  ; 
heres  no  place  for  you  maids:  so  deliver  I  up  my  apes, 
and  away  to  Saint  Peter  for  the  heavens ;  he  shows  me 
where  the  bachelors  sit,  and  there  live  we  as  merry  as 
the  day's  long. 

Bro.  Well,  niece,  I  trust  you  will  be  ruled  by  your 
father. 

Beat.  Yes,  faith ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make 
courtesy,  and  say,  .^^  it  please  you  :  but  yet  for  all  that, 
cousin,  let  him  be  a  handsome  fellow,  or  else  make  an- 
other courtesy,  and  say,  Father,  as  it  please  me. 

Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day  fitted 
with  a  husband. 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal 
than  earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman  to  be  over- 
mastered with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust }  to  make  ac- 
count of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  wayward  marl }  No,  uncle, 
I'll  none:  Adam's  sons  are  my  brethren;  and  truly,  I 
I  hold  it  a  sin  to  match  in  my  kindred. 

Leon.  Daughter,  remember  what  I  told  you ;  if  the 
prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know  your  an- 
swer. 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if  you 
be  not  woo'd  in  good  time :  if  the  prince  be  too  impor- 
tant, tell  him  there  is  measure  in  everything,  and  so 
dance  out  the  answer.  For  hear  me,  Hero :  Wooing, 
wedding,  and  repenting,  is  as  a  Scotch  jig,  a  measure, 
and  a  cinque-pace ;  the  first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a 
Scotch  jig,  and  full  as  fantastical ;  the  wedding,  man- 
nerly-modest, as  a  measure  full  of  state  and  ancientry  ; 
and  then  comes  repentance,  and,  with  his  bad  legs,  falls 
into  the  cinque-pace  faster  and  faster,  till  he  sinks  into 
his  grave. 


1 6  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beat.  I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle;  I  can  see  a  church 
by  daylight. 

Leon.  The  revellers  are  entering;  brother,  make 
Q-ood  room. 

Enter   Don    Pedro,    Claudio,    Benedick,   and   Bal- 
thazar, or  Dumb  John,  maskers  with  a  drum. 

Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your  friend. f* 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly,  and  look  sweetly,  and  say 
nothing,  I  am  yours  for  the  walk  ;  and,  especially,  when 
I  walk  away. 

Pedro.  With  me  in  your  company } 

LLero.  I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 

Pedro.  And  w^hen  please  you  to  say  so  ? 

Hero.  When  1  like  your  favour;  for  God  defend,  the 
lute  should  be  like  the  case  ! 

Pedro.  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof;  within  the 
house  is  Love. 

Hero.  Why,  then,  your  visor  should  be  thatch'd. 

Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

Bene.  W^ell,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Marg.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake  ;  for  I  have 
many  ill  qualities. 

Bene.  Which  is  one  } 

Marg.  I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Bene.  I  love  you  the  better;  the  hearers  may  cry 
Amen. 

Mai^g.  God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer  ! 

Balth.  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight  when 
the  dance  is  done  ! — Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.  No  more  words ;  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Urs.  I  know  you  w^ell  enough ;  you  are  Signior  An- 
tonio. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  I  know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your  head. 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well  unless  you 


Plate  3 
'WILL   YOU    HAVE  ME,  LADY?" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  ii.,  scene  i 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  Vj 

were  the  very  man.  Here's  his  dry  hand  up  and  down  ; 
you  are  he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.  At  a  word  I  am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come;  do  you  think  I  do  not  know  you  by 
your  excellent  wit.-*  Can  virtue  hide  itself }  Go  to,  mum- 
mer, you  are  he ;  graces  will  appear,  and  there's  an  end. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so  .f* 

Bene.  No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are } 

Bene.  Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disdainful,  and  that  I  had  my  good 
wit  out  of  the  Hundred  Merry  Tales ;  well,  this  was 
Signior  Benedick  that  said  so. 

Bene.  What's  he .? 

Beat.   I  am  sure,  you  know  him  well  enough. 

Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.  Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  .-^ 

Bene.  I  pray  you,  what  is  he } 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester  —  a  very  dull 
fool — his  only  gift  is  in  devising  impossible  slanders  ; 
none  but  libertines  delight  in  him;  and  the  commen- 
dation is  not  in  his  wit,  but  in  his  villany  ;  for  he  both 
pleaseth  men  and  angers  them,  and  then  they  laugh  at 
him,  and  beat  him ;  I  am  sure  he  is  in  the  fleet ;  I 
would  he  had  boarded  me. 

Bene.  When  I  know  the  gentleman,  I'll  tell  him 
what  you  say. 

Beat.  Do,  do ;  he'll  but  break  a  comparison  or  two 
on  me ;  which,  peradventure,  not  marked,  or  not 
laughed  at,  strikes  him  into  melancholy;  and  then 
there's  a  partridge  wing  saved,  for  the  fool  will  eat  no 
supper  that  night.     We  must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.  In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave  them 
at  the  next  turning.  \_Exeiint. 

Music  for  the  dance. 

John.  Sure  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero,  and 
hath  withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him  about  it. 
The  ladies  follow  her,  and  but  one  visor  remains. 


1 8  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio ;  I  know  him  by  his 
bearing. 

John.  Are  not  you  Signior  Benedick  ? 
Claud.  You  know  me  well ;   I  am  he. 

John.  Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother  in  his 
love;  he  is  enamoured  on  Hero;  I  pray  you,  dissuade 
him  from  her,  she  is  no  equal  for  his  birth;  you  may 
do  the  part  of  an  honest  man  in  it. 

Claud.   How  know  you  he  loves  her.? 

John.  I  heard  him  swear  his  affection. 

Bora.  So  did  I  too ;  and  he  swore  he  would  marry 
her  to-night. 

John.  Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

\_Exc7ini  inanet  Claudio. 

Claud.  Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio : 
'Tis  certain  so;  the  prince  woos  for  himself. 
Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things, 
Save  in  the  offtce  and  affairs  of  love : 
Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues ; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself. 
And  trust  no  agent :  for  beauty  is  a  witch, 
As[ainst  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof. 
Which  I  mistrusted  not.     Farewell,  therefore.  Hero ! 


Enter  Benedick. 

Bene.  Count  Claudio? 

Claud.  Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.  Come,  will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Claud.  Whither.? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own 
business,  count.  What  fashion  will  you  wear  the  gar- 
land of.?  About  your  neck,  like  an  usurer's  chain? 
or  under  your,  arm,  like  a  lieutenant's  scarf?  You 
must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the  prince  hath  got  your 
Hero. 

Claud.  I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Bene.  Why,   that's   spoken    like    an    honest   drover; 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  19 

SO  they  sell  bullocks.     But  did  you  think  the  prince 
would  have  served  you  thus? 

Claud.  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Bene.  Ho!  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man.  'Twas 
the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat  the  post. 

Claud.  If  it  will  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.  {^Exit. 

Bene.  Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl !  Now  will  he  creep 
into  sedges.  But  that  my  Lady  Beatrice  should  know 
me,  and  not  know  me!  The  prince's  fool!  Ha!  it 
may  be  I  go  under  that  title  because  I  am  merry. 
Yea ;  but  so  I  am  apt  to  do  myself  wrong :  I  am  not 
so  reputed :  it  is  the  base,  though  bitter,  disposition  of 
Beatrice  that  puts  the  world  into  her  person,  and  so 
gives  me  out.     Well,  I'll  be  revenged  as  I  may. 

Enter  the  Prince. 

Pedro.  Now,  signior,  Where's  the  count  .^  Did  you 
see  him  1 

Bene.  Troth,  my  lord,  I  have  played  the  part  of  Lady 
Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a  lodge  in 
a  warren  ;  I  told  him  and,  I  think,  told  him  true^  that 
your  grace  had  got  the  will  of  this  young  lady;  and 
I  offered  him  my  company  to  a  willow-tree,  either  to 
make  him  a  garland,  as  being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him 
a  rod,  as  being  worthy  to  be  whipped. 

Pedro.  To  be  whipped  !     What's  his  fault.? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a  school-boy,  who, 
being  overjoyed  with  finding  a  bird's  nest,  shows  it 
his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

Pedi^o.  Wilt  thou  make  a  trust  a  transgression  .? 
The  transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.  Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss  the  rod  had  been 
made,  and  the  garland  too;  for  the  garland  he  might 
have  worn  himself,  and  the  rod  he  might  have  bestowed 
on  you,  who,  as  I  take  it,  have  stol'n  his.  bird's  nest. 

Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  restore 
them  to  the  owner. 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  my 
faith  you  say  honestly. 


20  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Pedro.  The  Lady  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel  to  you ; 
the  gentleman  that  danced  with  her  told  her  she  is 
much  wronged  by  you. 

Bene.  Oh,  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance  of  a 
block ;  an  oak  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it  would 
have  answered  her ;  my  very  visor  began  to  assume 
life,  and  scold  with  her.  She  told  me,  not  think- 
ing I  had  been  myself,  that  I  was  the  prince's  jester, 
and  that  I  was  duller  than  a  great  thaw ;  huddling  jest 
upon  jest,  with  such  impossible  conveyance  upon  me, 
that  I  stood  like  a  man  at  a  mark,  with  a  whole  army 
shooting  at  me.  She  speaks  poniards,  and  every 
word  stabs ;  if  her  breath  were  as  terrible  as  her  ter- 
minations, there  were  no  living  near  her:  she  would 
infect  to  the  north  star.  I  would  not  marry  her, 
though  she  were  endowed  with  all  that  Adam  had 
left  him  before  he  transgressed ;  she  would  have 
made  Hercules  have  turned  spit;  yea,  and  have  cleft 
his  club  to  make  the  fire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of 
her;  you  shall  find  her  the  infernal  Ate  in  good 
apparel.  I  would  to  God  some  scholar  would  con- 
jure her;  for,  certainly,  while  she  is  here,  a  man  may 
live  as  quiet  in  hell  as  in  a  sanctuary  ;  and  people 
sin  upon  purpose,  because  they  would  go  thither: 
so,  indeed,  all  disquiet,  horror,  and  perturbation  fol- 
lows her. 

Enter  Claudio  and  Beatrice,  Leonato,  Hero. 

Pedro.  Look,  here  she  comes. 

Be7ie.  Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service  to 
the  world's  end }  I  will  go  on  the  slightest  errand  now 
to  the  Antipodes  that  you  can  devise  to  send  me  on  ; 
I  will  fetch  you  a  toothpicker  now  from  the  farthest 
inch  of  Asia;  bring  you  the  length  of  Prester  John's 
foot;  fetch  you  a  hair  off  the  great  Cham's  beard;  do 
you  any  embassage  to  the  Pygmies,  rather  than  hold 
three  words  conference  with  this  harpy.  You  have 
no  employment  for  me  ? 

Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  company. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  21 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish   I  love  not;    I  can- 
not endure  this  lady  tongue.  \Exit. 
Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come;   you   have   lost  the  heart 
of  Signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  a  while;  and  I 
give  him  use  for  it,  a  double  heart  for  a  single  one: 
marry,  once  before  he  won  it  of  me  with  false  dice, 
therefore  your  grace  may  well  say  I  have  lost  it. 

Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  you  have  put 
him  down. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord, 
lest  I  should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.  I  have  brought 
Count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count }  wherefore  are  you  sad  } 
Claud.  Not  sad,  my  lord. 
Pedro.   How  then.?     Sick.? 
Claud.   Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor  merry, 
nor  well ;  but  civil  count,  civil  as  an  orange,  and  some- 
thing of  a  jealous  complexion. 

Pedro.  yi2.ith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to  be  true, 
though,  ril  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his  conceit  is  false. 
Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thy  name,  and  fair 
Hero  is  won ;  I  have  broke  with  her  father,  and  his 
good -will  obtained:  name  the  day  of  marriage,  and 
God  give  thee  joy ! 

Leoji.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and  with  her 
my  fortunes :  his  grace  hath  made  the  match,  and  all 
grace  say  Amen  to  it ! 

Beat.  Speak,  count,  'tis  your  cue. 
Cla7id.  Silence   is   the    perfectest   herald   of  joy;    I 
were  but  little  happy  if  I  could  say  how  much.— Lady, 
as  you  are  mine,  I  am  yours ;   I  give  away  myself  for 
you,  and  dote  upon  the  exchange. 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin,  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his  mouth 
with  a  kiss,  and  let  not  him  speak  neither. 
Pedro.  In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 
Beat.  Yea,  my  lord;   I  thank  it,  poor  fool,  it  keeps 
on  the  windy  side  of  care.     My  cousin  tells  him  in  his 
ear  that  he  is  in  my  heart. 


22  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Claitd.  And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.  Good  Lord,  for  alHance  !  Thus  goes  every  one 
to  the  world  but  I,  and  I  am  sun-burned ;  I  may  sit  in 
a  corner,  and  cry  heigh-ho  for  a  husband. 

Pedro.  Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  you  one. 

Beat.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's  get- 
ting. Hath  your  grace  ne'er  a  brother  like  you  ? 
Your  father  got  excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid  could 
come  by  them. 

Prince.  Will  you  have  me,  lady  } 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another  for 
working-days ;  your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear  every 
day.  But,  I  beseech  your  grace,  pardon  me :  I  was 
born  to  speak  all  mirth,  and  no  matter. 

Prince.  Your  silence  most  offends  me,  and  to  be 
merry  best  becomes  you ;  for,  out  of  question,  you 
were  born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure  my  lord,  my  mother  cried ;  but  then 
there  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was  I  born. 
Cousins,  God  give  you  joy ! 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I  told 
you  of  ? 

Beat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle.  By  your  grace's 
pardon.  \_Exit  Beatrice. 

Prince.  By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Leo7i.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element  in 
her,  my  lord ;  she  is  never  sad  but  when  she  sleeps, 
and  not  ever  sad  then ;  for  I  have  heard  my  daughter 
say  she  hath  often  dreamed  of  unhappiness,  and  waked 
herself  with  laughing. 

Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a  husband. 

Leon.  Oh,  by  no  means ;  she  mocks  all  her  wooers 
out  of  suit. 

Prince.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Benedick. 

Leon.  O  Lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week  mar- 
ried, they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

Prince.  Count  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go  to 
church  ? 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord.  Time  goes  on  crutches 
till  Love  have  all  his  rites. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  23 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is  hence 
a  just  seven-night ;  and  a  time  too  brief,  too,  to  have  all 
things  answer  mind. 

Prince.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long  a 
breathing;  but  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time  shall 
not  go  dully  by  us ;  I  will,  in  the  interim,  undertake 
one  of  Hercules'  labors;  which  is,  to  bring  Signior 
Benedick  and  the  Lady  Beatrice  into  a  mountain  of 
affection,  the  one  with  the  other.  I  would  fain  have 
it  a  match ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  to  fashion  it,  if  you 
three  will  but  minister  such  assistance  as  I  shall  o-ive 
you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me  ten 
nights'  watchings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

Prince.  And  you,  too,  gentle  Hero  ? 

Llero.  I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help 
my  cousin  to  a  good  husband. 

Prince.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  unhopefullest  hus- 
band that  I  know  ;  thus  far  can  I  praise  him  :  he  is  of  a 
noble  strain,  of  approved  valor,  and  confirmed  honesty. 
I  will  teach  you  how  to  humor  your  cousin  that  she 
shall  fall  in  love  with  Benedick ;  and  I,  with  your  two 
helps,  will  so  practice  on  Benedick  that,  in  despite  of  his 
quick  wit  and  his  queasy  stomach,  he  shall  fall  in  love 
with  Beatrice.  If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no  longer 
an  archer ;  his  glory  shall  be  ours,  for  we  are  the  only 
love- gods.  Go  in  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  my 
drift.  S^Exit. 

Scene   II. — E7iter  John  and  Borachio. 

Jo/m.  It  is  so :  the  Count  Claudio  shall  marry  the 
daughter  of  Leonato. 

Bora.  Yea,  my  lord ;  but  I  can  cross  it. 

John.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment  will  be 
medicinable  to  me.  I  am  sick  in  displeasure  to  him  ; 
and  whatsoever  comes  athwart  his  affection,  ranges 
evenly  with  mine.  How  canst  thou  cross  this  mar- 
riao^e  "^ 


24  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Bora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord,  but  so  covertly  that 
no  dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 

Jolui.  Show  me  briefly  how. 

Bora.  I  think  I  told  your  lordship,  a  year  since,  how 
much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  waiting- 
gentlewoman  to  Hero. 

John.  I  remember. 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the  night, 
appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber-window. 

John.  What  life  is  in  that  to  be  the  death  of  this 
marriage  ? 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper. 
Go  you  to  the  prince,  your  brother ;  spare  not  to  tell 
him  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in  marrying  the 
renowned  Claudio  (whose  estimation  do  you  mightily 
hold  up)  to  a  contaminated  stale,  such  a  one  as  Hero. 

John.  What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that } 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex 
Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato.  Look  you  for 
any  other  issue  ? 

John.  Only  to  despite  them,  I  will  endeavour  anything. 

Bora.  Go,  then,  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw  on 
Pedro  and  the  Count  Claudio  alone  ;  tell  them  that  you 
know  that  Hero  loves  me;  intend  a  kind  of  zeal  both 
to  the  prince  and  Claudio  (as  in  a  love  of  your  brother's 
honour,  who  hath  made  this  match)  and  his  friend's 
reputation,  who  is  thus  like  to  be  cozened  with  the 
semblance  of  a  maid — that  you  have  discovered  thus. 
They  will  scarcely  believe  this  without  trial :  offer  them 
instances  which  shall  bear  no  less  likelihood  than  to  see 
me  at  her  chamber- window;  hear  me  call  Margaret, 
Hero  ;  hear  Margaret  term  me  Claudio  ;  and  bring  them 
to  see  this  the  very  night  before  the  intended  wedding; 
for,  in  the  meantime,  I  will  so  fashion  the  matter  that 
Hero  shall  be  absent,  and  there  shall  appear  such 
seeming  truths  of  Hero's  disloyalty  that  jealousy  shall 
be  call'd  assurance,  and  all  the  preparation  overthrown. 

John.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can,  I 
will  put  it  in  practice.  Be  cunning  in  the  working 
this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 


Plate  4 

"ONLY   TO    DESPITE   THEM,  1    WILL   ENDEAVOUR    ANY- 
THING" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  ii.,  scene  ii. 


t^>y^ 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  25 

Bora.  Be  thou  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my 
cunning  shall  not  shame  me. 
Johii  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of  marriage. 

\Exit. 

Scene   III. — Enter  Benedick  alone. 

Bene.  Boy. 

Boy.  Signior. 

Bene.  In  my  chamber-window  lies  a  book ;  bring  it 
hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boy.  I  am  here  already,  sir.  \^Exit. 

Bene.  I  know  that ;  but  I  would  have  thee  hence, 
and  here  again.  I  do  much  wonder  that  one  man,  see- 
ino-  how  much  another  man  is  a  fool  when  he  dedicates 
his  behaviours  to  love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at 
such  shallow  follies  in  others,  become  the  argument  of 
his  own  scorn  by  falling  in  love.  And  such  a  man  is 
Claudio.  I  have  known  when  there  was  no  music  with 
him  but  the  drum  and  the  fife ;  and  now  had  he  rather 
hear  the  tabor  and  the  pipe.  I  have  known  when  he 
would  have  walked  ten  mile  afoot  to  see  a  good  ar- 
mour ;  and  now  will  he  lie  ten  nights  awake,  carving  the 
fashion  of  a  new  doublet.  He  was  wont  to  speak  plain, 
and  to  the  purpose,  like  an  honest  man  and  a  soldier; 
and  now  is  he  turn'd  orthographer ;  his  words  are  a 
very  fantastical  banquet — just  so  many  strange  dishes. 
May  I  be  so  converted,  and  see  with  these  eyes .?  I 
cannot  tell ;  I  think  not.  I  will  not  be  sworn,  but  love 
may  transform  me  to  an  oyster;  but  I'll  take  my  oath 
on  it,  till  he  have  made  an  oyster  of  me  he  shall  never 
make  me  such  a  fool.  One  woman  is  fair,  yet  I  am 
well  ;  another  is  wise,  yet  I  am  well ;  another  virtuous, 
yet  I  am  well ;  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one 
woman  shall  not  come  in  my  grace.  Rich  she  shall  be, 
that's  certain;  wise,  or  I'll  none;  virtuous,  or  I'll  never 
cheapen  her;  fair,  or  I'll  never  look  on  her;  mild,  or 
come  not  near  me  ;  noble,  or  not  for  an  angel ;  of  good 
discourse,  an  excellent  musician,  and  her  hair  shall  be 
of  what  colour  it  please  God.  Ha!  the  prince  and 
Monsieur  Love !  I  will  hide  me  in  the  arbour. 


26  COMEDIES  OE  SHAKESPEARE 


Enter  Prince,  Leonato,  Claudio,  a7id  Jack  Wilson. 

Prince.  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  my  good  lord.     How  still  the  evening  is, 
As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony ! 

Prince.  See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid  himself } 

Claud.  Oh,  very  well,  my  lord:  the  music  ended, 
We'll  fit  the  kid-fox  with  a  pennyworth. 

Prince.  Come,  Balthazar,  well  hear  that  song  again. 

Balth.  Oh,  good  my  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice, 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

Pri?ice.   It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency, 
To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection. 
I  pray  thee  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Ballh.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing, 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy,  yet  he  woos, 
Yet  will  he  swear  he  loves. 

Prince.  Nay,  pray  thee  come, 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes, 

There's  not  a  note  of  mine  that's  worth  the  noting. 

Priiice.  Why  these  are  very  crochets  that  he  speaks. 
Note  notes,  forsooth,  and  noting! 

Bc7ie.  Now,  divine  air,  now  is  his  soul  ravished!  Is 
it  not  strange  that  sheep's  guts  should  hale  souls  out 
of  men's  bodies  ?  Well,  a  horn  for  my  money  when  all's 
done. 

THE   SONG. 

Sigh  no  7nore,  ladies,  sigh  7io  more. 

Men  were  deceivers  ever; 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  shore. 
To  07ie  thing  constant  never: 
Then  sigh  not  so. 
But  let  them  go. 
And  be  you  blithe  and  bo7i7iy; 
Co7iveriing  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
l7ito  Hey  7i07viy,  nonny 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  27 

Sing  no  more  ditiies,  sing  tio  moe 

Of  dwnps  so  dull  and  heavy; 
The  fraud  of  men  were  ever  so. 

Since  summer  first  was  leavy  : 
Then  sigh  7iot  so,  &^c. 

Prince.   By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 

Balth.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

Prifice.  Ha?  no;  no,  faith;  thou  singest  well  enough 
for  a  shift. 

Bene.  And  he  had  been  a  dog  that  should  have 
howled  thus,  they  would  have  hang'd  him  ;  and  I  pray 
God  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief!  I  had  as  lief  have 
heard  the  night-raven,  come  what  plague  could  have 
come  after  it. 

Prmce.  Yea,  marry,  dost  thou  hear,  Balthazar.?  I  pray 
thee  get  us  some  excellent  music ;  for  to-morrow  nio-ht 
we  would  have  it  at  the  Lady  Hero's  chamber-window. 

BaltJi.  The  best  I  can,  my  lord.      \_Exit  Balthazar. 

Prince.  Do  so ;  farewell.  Come  hither,  Leonato. 
What  was  it  you  told  me  of  to-day.?  that  your  niece 
Beatrice  was  in  love  with  Signior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  Oh,  ay :  stalk  on,  stalk  on ;  the  fowl  sits.  I 
did  never  think  that  lady  would  have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither;  but  most  wonderful  that 
she  should  so  dote  on  Signior  Benedick,  whom  she  hath 
in  all  outward  behaviours  seemed  ever  to  abhor. 

Bene.  Is't  possible  ?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner.? 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what  to 
think  of  it ;  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  enraged 
affection,  it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

Prince.  May  be  she  doth  but  counterfeit! 

Clanci.  Faith,  like  enouo^h. 

Leo7i.  O  God  !  counterfeit.?  There  was  never  counter- 
feit of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion  as  she 
discovers  it. 

Prince.  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows  she .? 

Claud.   Bait  the  hook  well ;  this  fish  will  bite. 

Leon.  What  effects,  my  lord .?  She  will  sit  you — 
you  heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 

Cland.  She  did,  indeed. 


28  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Prince.  How,  how,  I  pray  you  ?  You  amaze  me.  I 
would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been  invincible 
against  all  assaults  of  affection. 

Leon.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord ;  especially 
against  Benedick. 

Bene.  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that  the  white- 
bearded  fellow  speaks  it:  knavery  cannot,  sure,  hide 
himself  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.   He  hath  ta'en  the  infection  ;  hold  it  up. 

Prince.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  known  to  Bene- 
dick.? 

Leon.  No;  and  swears  she  never  will:  that's  her  tor- 
ment. 

Claud.  'Tis  true  indeed;  so  your  daughter  says: 
Shall  /,  says  she,  that  have  so  oft  encounter  d  hint  zvith 
scor?i,  zurite  to  him  that  /  love  hint  ? 

Leon.  This  says  she  now  when  she  is  beginning  to 
write  to  him  :  for  she'll  be  up  twenty  times  a  night,  and 
there  will  she  sit  in  her  smock  till  she  have  writ  a 
sheet  of  paper.     My  daughter  tells  us  all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  remember 
a  pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  Oh !  when  she  had  writ  it,  and  was  reading  it 
over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  between  the 
sheet ! 

Claud.  That. 

Leon.  Oh  !  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand  half- 
pence ;  railed  at  herself  that  she  should  be  so  immodest 
to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would  flout  her.  /  meas- 
ure hi7TZ,  says  she,  dy  my  own  spirit;  for  L  should  flout 
him,  if  he  writ  to  m-e ;  yea,  though  I  love  him,  L  should. 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls,  weeps, 
sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays,  curses.  O 
sweet  Benedick  J  God  give  me  patience  I 

Leon.  She  doth  indeed ;  my  daughter  says  so ;  and 
the  ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her  that  my  daugh- 
ter is  sometimes  afraid  she  will  do  a  desperate  outrage 
to  herself.     It  is  very  true. 

Prince.  It  were  good  that  Benedick  knew  of  it  by 
some  other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  29 

Claud.  To  what  end  ?  He  would  but  make  a  sport 
of  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

Prmce.  And  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  hang  him. 
She's  an  excellent  sweet  lady,  and,  out  of  all  suspicion, 
she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.  And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

Prince.  In  everything  but  in  loving  Benedick. 

Leon.  Oh,  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating  in 
so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one  that  blood 
hath  the  victory.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I  have  just 
cause,  being  her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 

Prince.  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage  on  me  ; 
I  would  have  doff'd  all  other  respects,  and  made  her 
half  myself.  I  pray  you  tell  Benedick  of  it,  and  hear 
what  he  will  say. 

Leon.  Were  it  good,  think  you.? 

Clatid.  Hero  thinks  surely  she  will  die ;  for  she  says 
she  will  die  if  he  love  her  not,  and  she  will  die  ere  she 
make  her  love  known;  and  she  will  die  if  he  woo  her, 
rather  than  she  will  bate  one  breath  of  her  accustomed 
crossness. 

Prince.  She  doth  well :  if  she  should  make  tender  of 
her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he'll  scorn  it ;  for  the  man, 
as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptible  spirit. 

Claud.  He  is  a  very  proper  man. 

Prince.   He  hath,  indeed,  a  good  outward  happiness. 

Claud.  'Fore  God,  and  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

Prince.  He  doth,  indeed,  show  some  sparks  that  are 
like  wit. 

Leon.  And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

Prince.  As  Hector,  I  assure  you  :  and  in  the  manag- 
ing of  quarrels  you  may  see  he  is  wise ;  for  either  he 
avoids  them  with  great  discretion,  or  undertakes  them 
with  a  Christian-like  fear. 

Leon.  If  he  do  fear  God,  he  must  necessarily  keep 
peace ;  if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter  into  a 
quarrel  with  fear  and  trembling. 

Prince.  And  so  will  he  do ;  for  the  man  doth  fear 
God,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some  large 
jests    he    will    make.      Well,   I    am    sorry    for    your 


30  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

niece.  Shall  we  go  see  Benedick,  and  tell  him  of  her 
love? 

Claud.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord  ;  let  her  wear  it  out 
with  good  counsel, 

Leon.  Nay,  that's  impossible ;  she  may  wear  her 
heart  out  first. 

Prince.  Well,  we  will  hear  further  of  it  by  your  daugh- 
ter; let  it  cool  the  while.  I  love  Benedick  well;  and  I 
could  wish  he  would  modestly  examine  himself,  to  see 
how  much  he  is  unworthy  to  have  so  good  a  lady. 

Leon.  My  lord,  will  you  walk  t  dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I  will 
never  trust  my  expectation. 

Pruice.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for  her; 
and  that  must  your  daughter  and  her  gentlewoman 
carry.  The  sport  will  be  when  they  hold  one  an 
opinion  of  another's  dotage,  and  no  such  matter;  that's 
the  scene  that  I  would  see,  which  will  be  merely  a 
dumb  show.     Let  us  send  her  to  call  him  in  to  dinner. 

\_Exeunt. 

Bene.  This  can  be  no  trick.  The  conference  was 
sadly  borne.  They  have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero. 
They  seem  to  pity  the  lady ;  it  seems  her  affections 
have  the  full  bent.  Love  me  t  why,  it  must  be  re- 
quited. I  hear  how  I  am  censur'd :  they  say  I  will 
bear  myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the  love  come  from 
her;  they  say,  too,  that  she  will  rather  die  than  give 
any  sign  of  affection.  I  did  never  think  to  marry.  I 
must  not  seem  proud.  Happy  are  they  that  hear  their 
detractions,  and  can  put  them  to  mending.  They  say 
the  lady  is  fair;  'tis  a  truth,  I  can  bear  them  witness: 
and  virtuous;  'tis  so,  I  cannot  reprove  it:  and  wise, 
but  for  loving  me.  By  my  troth,  it  is  no  addition  to 
her  wit,  nor  no  great  argument  of  her  folly,  for  I  will 
be  horribly  in  love  with  her.  I  may  chance  have  some 
odd  quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  because 
I  have  railed  so  long  against  marriage.  But  doth 
not  the  appetite  alter.?  A  man  loves  the  meat  in  his 
youth  that  he  cannot  endure  in  his  age.  Shall  quips 
and   sentences    and   these   paper   bullets   of   the   brain 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  3^ 

awe  a  man  from  the  career  of  his  humor?  No;  the 
world  must  be  peopled.  When  I  said  I  would  die  a 
bachelor  I  did  not  think  I  should  live  till  I  were  mar- 
ried. Here  comes  Beatrice.  By  this  day,  she's  a  fair 
lady !     I  do  spy  some  marks  of  love  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beat.  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come  in 
to  dinner. 

Bene.  Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beat.  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than 
you  take  pains  to  thank  me ;  if  it  had  been  painful  I 
would  not  have  come. 

Berie.  You  take  pleasure,  then,  in  the  message  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a 
knife's  point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal.  You  have  no 
stomach,  signior  ;  fare  you  well.  S^Exit. 

Bene.  Ha !  Against  my  ivill  I  am  sent  to  bid  you 
come  in  to  dinner — there's  a  double  meaning  in  that.  / 
took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than  you  took  pains 
to  thajik  me — that's  as  much  as  to  say,  any  pains  that 
I  take  for  you  is  as  easy  as  thanks.  If  I  do  not  take 
pity  of  her  I  am  a  villain;  if  I  do  not  love  her  I  am  a 
Jew.     I  will  go  get  her  picture.  [^Exit. 


ACT  III 

Scene  \.~Enter  Hero  and  two  Gentlemen,  Margaret, 
and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Margaret,  run  thee  to  the  parlour  ; 
There  shalt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing  with  the  Prince  and  Claudio. 
Whisperher  ear,  and  tell  her  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard,  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her ;  say  that  thou  overheard'st  us ; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honey-suckles,  ripened  by  the  sun. 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter;  like  favorites 


32  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Made  proud  by  princes  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  power  that  bred  it ;  there  will  she  hide 

her 
To  listen  our  purpose.     This  is  thy  office ; 
Bear  thee  well  in  it,  and  leave  us  alone. 

Marg.  I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you,  presently. 

Hero.  Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come, 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick : 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit. 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice.      Of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid  s  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay.     Now  begin. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.  The  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream. 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait. 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice,  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture. 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose  nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 
I  know  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely? 

Hero.  So  says  the  prince,  and  my  new-trothed  lord. 

Urs.  And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam } 

Hero.  They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it; 
But  I  persuaded  them,  if  they  lov'd  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection. 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs.  Why  did  you  so  t     Doth  not  the  gentleman 


Plate  5 

"SIGH   NO   MORE,  LADIES" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  ii.,  scene  iii. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  Z2, 

Deserve  as  full,  as  fortunate  a  bed 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon  ? 

Hero.  O  God  of  love !   I  know  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man. 
But  nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice. 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on  ;  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak:  she  cannot  love. 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection. 
She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so ; 
And  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.  Why,  you  speak  truth.     I  never  yet  saw  man, 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featured. 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward :  if  fair-faced. 
She  would  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister ; 
If  black,  why,  nature  drawing  of  an  antic. 
Made  a  foul  blot :  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed ; 
If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut ; 
If  speaking,  why  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds ; 
If  silent,  why  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out; 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero.  No ;  not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fashions, 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable; 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so  1     If  I  should  speak 
She  would  mock  me  into  air ;  Oh,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  covered  fire. 
Consume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly: 
It  were  a  better  death  to  die  with  mocks; 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  ticklin^. 

Urs.  Yet  tell  her  of  it ;  hear  what  she  will  say. 

Hero.  No ;  rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick, 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion : 


34  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

And,  truly,  Til  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with.     One  doth  not  know 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  impoison  liking. 

Urs.  Oh,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong  ; 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgment 
(Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit, 
As  she  is  priz'd  to  have)  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  Signior  Benedick, 

Hero.   He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.  I  pray  you  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam, 
Speaking  my  fancy.     Signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument,  and  valour, 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.  Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.   His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  it. — 
When  are  you  married,  madam  } 

Hero.  Why,  every  day — to-morrow.     Come,  go  in. 
I'll  show  thee  some  attires ;  and  have  thy  counsel. 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urs.  She's  lim'd,  I  warrant  you  ;  we  have  caught  her, 
madam. 

Hero.  If  it  prove  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps ; 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps.     \_Exit. 

Beat.  What   fire    is    in    mine    ears  .'^     Can    this    be 
true  ? 
Stand  I  condemn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much } 

Contempt,  farewell !  and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 
No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such, 
And,  Benedick,  love  on,  I  will  requite  thee. 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand ; 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band. 
For  others  say  thou  dost  deserve,  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  \_Exit. 

Scene    II.  —  Enter   Prince,   Claudio,    Benedick,  a7id 

Leonato. 
Prince.   I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be  consum- 
mate, and  then  I  go  towards  Arragon. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  35 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you'll  vouch- 
safe me. 

Prince.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in  the 
new  gloss  of  your  marriage  as  to  show  a  child  his  new 
coat  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will  only  be  bold 
with  Benedick  for  his  company;  for,  from  the  crown  of 
his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  he  is  all  mirth ;  he  hath 
twice  or  thrice  cut  Cupid's  bowstring,  and  the  little 
hangman  dare  not  shoot  at  him ;  he  hath  a  heart  as 
sound  as  a  bell,  and  his  tongue  is  the  clapper;  for  what 
his  heart  thinks  his  tongue  speaks. 

Bene.  Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leon.  So  say  I ;  methinks  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.  I  hope  he  be  in  love. 

Prince.  Hang  him,  truant;  there's  no  true  drop  of 
blood  in  him  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love.  If  he  be 
sad,  he  wants  money. 

Bene.  I  have  the  toothache. 

Prince.  Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hans:  it ! 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  afterwards. 

Prince.  What,  sigh  for  the  toothache  } 

Leon.  Where  is  but  a  humour  or  a  worm. 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  cannot  master  a  grief,  but 
he  that  has  it. 

Claud.  Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love. 

Prince.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in  him,  unless 
it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange  disguises ;  as,  to  be 
a  Dutchman  to-day,  a  Frenchman  to-morrow.  Unless 
he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery,  as  it  appears  he  hath,  he 
is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you  would  have  it  to  appear  he  is. 

Cland.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman,  there 
is  no  believing  old  signs.  He  brushes  his  hat  o'  morn- 
ings ;  what  should  that  bode  ? 

Prince.   Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber's  .f" 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen  with 
him ;  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath  already 
stuffed  tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by  the 
loss  of  a  beard. 


36  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Prince.  Nay,  he  rubs  himself  with  civet.  Can  you 
smell  him  out  by  that  ? 

Claud.  That's  as  much  as  to  say  the  sweet  youth's  in 
love. 

Prince.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melancholy. 

Claud.  And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face  t 

Prince.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself.?  for  the  which  I  hear 
what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit,  which  is  now 
crept  into  a  lutestring  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

Prince.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him.  Con- 
clude, he  is  in  love. 

Clatid.  Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

Prince.  That  would  I  know  too ;  I  warrant,  one  that 
knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions ;  and,  in  despite  of 
all,  dies  for  him. 

Prince.  She  shall  be  buried  with  her  face  upward. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  toothache.  Old 
signior,  walk  aside  with  me ;  I  have  studied  eight  or 
nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which  these  hobby- 
horses must  not  hear. 

Prince.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about  Beatrice. 

Clau-d.  'Tis  even  so.  Hero  and  Margaret  have  by 
this  played  their  parts  with  Beatrice ;  and  then  the 
two  bears  will  not  bite  one  another  when  they  meet. 

Enter  John  the  Bastard. 

Bast.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you. 
Prince,  Good  den,  brother. 

Bast.   If  your  leisure  served,  I  would  speak  with  you. 
Prince.  In  private.? 

Bast.     If   it    please   you ;    yet   Count   Claudio   may 
hear,  for  what  I  would  speak  of  concerns  him. 
Pri7ice.  What's  the  matter.? 

Bast.  Means  your  lordship   to   be  married   to  -  mor- 
row.? 
Prince.  You  know  he  does. 
Bast.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what  I  know. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  37 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you  dis- 
cover it. 

Bast.  You  may  think  I  love  you  not ;  let  that  appear 
hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that  I  now  will  mani- 
fest. For  my  brother,  I  think,  he  holds  you  well ;  and 
in  dearness  of  heart  hath  helped  to  effect  your  ensuing 
marriage  ;  surely,  suit  ill-spent,  and  labour  ill-bestowed  ! 

Prince.   Why,  what's  the  matter  } 

Bast.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and,  circumstances 
shortened  (for  she  hath  been  too  long  a  talking  of),  the 
lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.  Who,  Hero  } 

Bast.  Even  she ;  Leonato  s  Hero,  your  Hero,  every 
man's  Hero. 

Clatid.  Disloyal  ? 

Bast.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her  wicked- 
ness ,  I  could  say  she  were  worse.  Think  you  of  a  worse 
title,  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it.  Wonder  not  till  further 
warrant.  Go  but  with  me  to-night,  you  shall  see  her 
chamber  window  entered,  even  the  night  before  her 
wedding-day.  If  you  love  her  then,  to-morrow  wed  her  ; 
but  it  would  better  fit  your  honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so  ? 

Prince.  I  will  not  think  it. 

Bast.  If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see,  confess  not 
that  you  know.  If  you  will  follow  me,  I  will  show  you 
enough ;  and  when  you  have  seen  more,  and  heard 
more,  proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.  If  I  see  anything  to-night,  why  I  should  not 
marry  her  to-morrow;  in  the  congregation,  where  I 
should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 

Prince.  And  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her,  I  will 
join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her. 

Bast.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther  till  you  are  my 
witnesses :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  night,  and  let  the  issue 
show  itself. 

Prince.  Oh,  day  untowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.  Oh,  mischief  strangely  thwarting! 

Bast.  Oh,  plague  right  well  prevented  !  So  will  you 
say,  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel.  [Exit. 


38  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Scene  III. — Enter  Dogberry  and  his  Compartner  with 

the  Watch. 

Dogb.  Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 
.    Ve7^g.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  bodv  and  soul, 

Dogb.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for 
them,  if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them,  being 
chosen  for  the  prince's  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour  Dog- 
berry. 

Dogb.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless  man 
to  be  constable? 

Watch  I.  Hugh  Oatcake,  sir,  or  George  Seacoal ;  for 
they  can  write  and  read. 

Dogb.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacoal.  God  hath 
blessed  you  with  a  good  name :  to  be  a  well-favoured 
man  is  the  gift  of  fortune,  but  to  write  and  read  comes 
by  nature. 

Watch  2.  Both  which,  master  constable — 

Dogb.  You  have.  I  knew  it  would  be  your  answer. 
Well,  for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God  thanks,  and 
make  no  boast  of  it;  and  for  your  writing  and  reading, 
let  that  appear  when  there  is  no  need  of  such  vanity. 
You  are  thous^ht  here  to  be  the  most  senseless  and  fit 
man  for  the  constable  of  the  watch ;  therefore  bear  you 
the  lantern.  This  is  your  charge:  You  shall  compre- 
hend all  vagrom  men ;  you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand, 
in  the  prince's  name. 

Watch  2.   How  if  he  will  not  stand  } 

Dogb.  Why,  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him 
go ;  and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch  together, 
and  thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

l^erg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he  is 
none  of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Dogb.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  but 
the  prince's  subjects.  You  shall  also  make  no  noise 
in  the  streets ;  for,  for  the  watch  to  babble  and  talk,  is 
most  tolerable  and  not  to  be  endured. 

Watch  2.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk ;  we  know 
what  belongs  to  a  watch. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  39 

Dogb.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet  watchman ;  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping  should 
offend ;  only,  have  a  care  that  your  bills  be  not  stolen. 
Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the  ale-houses,  and  bid 
them  that  are  drunk  get  them  to  bed. 
Watch  2.   How  if  they  will  not.^* 

Dogb.  Why,  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are  sober ; 
if  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer,  you  may 
say  they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for. 
Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Dogb.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him,  by 
virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  ;  and,  for  such 
kind  of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with  them, 
why,  the  more  is  for  your  honesty. 

Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we  not 
lay  hands  on  him  ? 

Dogb.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may;  but  I  think 
they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled.  The  most  peace- 
able way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is  to  let  him 
show  himself  what  he  is,  and  steal  out  of  your  company. 
Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I  would  not  han^^  a  dog  by  my  will; 
much  more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

Watch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will  not 
hear  us } 

Dogb.  Why,  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child 
wake  her  with  crying;  for  the  ewe  that  will  not  hear 
her  lamb  when  it  baas,  will  never  answer  a  calf  when 
he  bleats. 

Verg.  'Tis  very  true. 

Dogb.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  constable, 
are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person  ;  if  you  meet  the 
prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Verg.   Nay,  byV  lady,  that,  I  think,  he  cannot. 
Dogb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man  that 
knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him :  marry,  not  with- 
out the  prince  be  willing;  for,  indeed,  the  watch  oucrht 


40  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

to  offend  no  man ;  and  it  is  an  offence  to  stay  a  man 
ao^ainst  his  will. 

Verg.  By'r  lady,  I  think  it  be  so. 

Dogb.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Well,  masters,  good-night;  and 
there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up  me. 
Keep  your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own,  and  good- 
night.    Come,  neighbour. 

Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge.  Let  us 
go  sit  here  upon  the  church  bench  till  two,  and  then  all 
to  bed. 

Dogb.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbours.  I  pray 
you  watch  about  Signior  Leonato's  door ;  for  the  wed- 
ding being  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a  great  coil  to- 
night.    Adieu,  be  vigilant,  I  beseech  you. 

\_Exaint. 

Enter  BoRACHio  and  Conrade. 

Bora.  What !  Conrade  1 

Watch.  Peace,  stir  not. 

Bora.  Conrade,  I  say  ! 

Con.  Here,  man,  I  am  at  thy  elbow. 

Bora.  Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched ;  I  thought  there 
would  a  scab  follow. 

Con.  I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that ;  and  now  for- 
ward with  thy  tale. 

Bora.  Stand  thee  close  then  under  this  pent-house, 
for  it  drizzles  rain  ;  and  I  will,  like  a  true  drunkard,  utter 
all  to  thee. 

Watch.  Some  treason,  masters ;  yet  stand  close. 

Bora.  Therefore  know,  I  have  earned  of  Don  John  a 
thousand  ducats. 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villany  should  be  so  dear  } 

Bora.  Thou  shouldst  rather  ask  if  it  were  possible 
any  villany  should  be  so  rich ;  for  when  rich  villains 
have  need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may  make  what 
price  they  will. 

Con.  I  wonder  at  it. 

Bora.  That  shows  thou  art  unconfirmed.  Thou 
knowest  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or  a 
cloak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 


Plate  6 

"AGAINST   MY  WILL.  I  AM   SENT  TO    BID  YOU  COME   IN 

TO  DINNER" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  ii.,  scene  tii. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  41 

Con.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 
Bora.  I  mean  the  fashion. 
Con.  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 
Bora.  Tush !  I  may  as  well  say  the  fool's^  the  fool. 
But  seest  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this  fashion 

is? 

Watch.  I  know  that  Deformed ;  he  has  been  a  vile 
thief  this  seven  years;  he  goes  up  and  down  like  a 
gentleman.     I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.  Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody  1 
Con.  No  ;  'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 
Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed  thief 
this  fashion  is.?  how  giddily  he  turns  about  all  thehot- 
bloods  between  fourteen  and  five  and  thirty  !  sometimes 
fashioning  them  like  Pharaoh's  soldiers  in  the  reechy 
painting;  sometimes  like  god  Bel's  priests  in  the  old 
church  window;  sometimes  like  the  shaven  Hercules  in 
the  smirched  worm-eaten  tapestry,  where  his  cod-piece 
seems  as  massy  as  his  club } 

Con.  All  this  I  see ;  and  see  that  the  fashion  wears 
out  more  apparel  than  the  man.  But  art  not  thou  thy- 
self giddy  with  the  fashion  too,  that  thou  hast  shifted 
out  of  thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the  fashion } 

Bora.  Not  so  neither  ;  but  know  that  I  have  to-night 
wooed  Margaret,  the  Lady  Hero's  gentlewoman,  by  the 
name  of  Hero  ;  she  leans  me  out  at  her  mistress'  cham- 
ber-window, bids  me  a  thousand  times  good-night. —  I 
tell  this  tale  vilely.  I  should  first  tell  thee  how  the 
Prince,  Claudio,  and  my  master,  planted  and  placed 
and  possessed  by  my  master  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in 
the  orchard  this  amiable  encounter. 

Con.  And  thought  thy  Margaret  was  Hero  } 
Bora.  Two  of  them  did,  the  Prince  and  Claudio; 
but  the  devil  my  master  knew  she  was  Margaret ;  and 
partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them,  partly 
by  the  dark  night,  which  did  deceive  them,  but  chiefly 
by  my  villany,  which  did  confirm  any  slander  that  Don 
John  had  made,  away  went  Claudio  enraged ;  swore  he 
would  meet  her  as  he  was  appointed  next  morning  at 
the  temple,  and  there,  before  the  whole  congregation. 


42  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

shame  her  with  what  he  saw  overnight,  and  send  her 
home  again  without  a  husband. 

Watch  I.  We  charge  you  in  the  prince's  name,  stand. 

Watch  2.  Call  up  the  right  master-constable.  We 
have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  lech- 
ery that  ever  was  known  in  the  commonwealth. 

Watch  I.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them,  I 
know  him,  he  wears  a  lock. 

Con.  Masters,  masters. 

Watch  2.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth,  I 
warrant  you. 

Con.  Masters,  never  speak  :  we  charge  you,  let  us 
obey  you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity,  be- 
ing taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Co7i.  A  commodity  in  question,  I  warrant  you.  Come, 
we'll  obey  you.  \Exeiint. 

Scene   IV. — Enter  Hero  and  Margaret  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice  and 
desire  her  to  rise. 

Urs.   I  will,  lady. 

Hero.  And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.  Well. 

Marg.  Troth,  I  think  your  other  rebato  were  better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  it's  not  so  good ;  and  I  warrant 
your  cousin  will  say  so. 

Hero.  My  cousin's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another;  I'll 
wear  none  but  this. 

Marg.  I  like  the  new  tire  within  excellently  if  the 
hair  were  a  thought  browner;  and  your  gown's  a  most 
rare  fashion,  i'faith.  I  saw  the  duchess  of  Milan's 
gown  that  they  praise  so. 

Hero.  Oh,  that  exceeds,  they  say. 

Marg.  By  my  troth  it's  but  a  night-gown  in  respect 
of  yours.  Cloth  of  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced  with  silver; 
set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side  sleeves,  and  skirts 
round,  underborne  with  a  bluish  tinsel:  but  for  a  fine, 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  43 

quaint,  graceful,  and  excellent  fashion,  yours  is  worth 
ten  on't. 

Hero.  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart  is  ex- 
ceeding heavy  ! 

Marg.  'Twill  be  heavier  soon  by  the  weight  of  a 
man. 

Hero.  Fie  upon  thee!  art  not  asham'd  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady  ?  of  speaking  honourably  ?  Is 
not  marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar?  Is  not  your  lord 
honourable  without  marriage?  I  think  you  would  have 
me  say,  saving  your  reverence,  a  husdand :  and  bad 
thinking  do  not  wrest  true  speaking,  I'll  offend  no- 
body. Is  there  any  harm  in  i/ie  heavier  for  a  Jmsband? 
None,  I  think,  and  it  be  the  right  husband  and  the 
right  wife;  otherwise  'tis  light,  and  not  heavy.  Ask 
my  Lady  Beatrice  else ;  here  she  comes. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero.  Good-morrow,  coze. 

Beat.  Good-morrow,  sweet  Hero. 

Hero.  Why,  how  now  ?  do  you  speak  in  the  sick 
tune  ? 

Beat.  I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

Marg.  Clap  us  into  Light  d  love;  that  goes  with- 
out a  burden ;  do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Ye  LigJit  d  love  with  your  heels  ? — then  if 
your  husband  have  stables  enough,  you'll  look  he  shall 
lack  no  barns. 

Marg.  Oh,  illegitimate  construction  !  I  scorn  that 
with  ray  heels. 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin  ;  'tis  time  you 
were  ready.     By  my  troth  I  am  exceeding  ill,  hey-ho! 

Mar^.   For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  ? 

Beat.  For  the  letter  that  beo-ins  them  all,  H. 

Marg.  Well,  and  you  be  not  turned  Turk,  there's  no 
more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beat.  What  means  the  fool,  trow? 

Marg.  Nothing  I;,  but  God  send  every  one  their 
heart's  desire ! 


44  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me,  they  are  an 
excellent  perfume. 

Beat.     I  am  stuffed,  cousin  ;   I  cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A  maid,  and  stuffed !  there's  goodly  catching 
of  cold. 

Beat.  O  God,  help  me  !  God  help  me  !  how  long 
have  you  profess'd  apprehension .? 

Marg.  Ever  since  you  left  it ;  doth  not  my  wit  be- 
come me  rarely } 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough  ;  you  should  wear  it  in 
your  cap.     By  my  troth,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distill'd  Carduus  Bene- 
dictus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart ;  it  is  the  only  thing  for 
a  qualm. 

Hero.  There  thou  prick'st  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beat.  Benedictus !  why  Benedictus  t  you  have  some 
moral  in  this  Benedictus. 

Marg.  Moral  1  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral 
meaning.  I  meant  plain  holy-thistle.  You  may  think, 
perchance,  that  I  think  you  are  in  love.  Nay,  by'r  lady, 
I  am  not  such  a  fool  to  think  what  I  list;  nor  I  list  not 
to  think  what  I  can ;  nor,  indeed,  I  cannot  think,  if  I 
would  think  my  heart  out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in 
love,  or  that  you  will  be  in  love,  or  that  you  can  be  in 
love.  Yet  Benedick  was  such  another,  and  now  is  he 
become  a  man.  He  swore  he  would  never  marry ;  and 
yet  now,  in  despite  of  his  heart,  he  eats  his  meat  with- 
out grudging.  And  how  you  may  be  converted  I  know 
not ;  but  methinks  you  look  with  your  eyes  as  other 
women  do. 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps  ? 

Marg.  Not  a  false  gallop. 

E7iter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw  ;  the  prince,  the  count,  Signior 
Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants  of  the  town 
are  come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coze,  good  Meg,  good 
Ursula. 


Plate  7 

'SHE'S   LIMN'D.  I   WARRANT    YOU' 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  iii.,  scene  i. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  45 

Scene  V. — Enter  Leonato,  with  Dogberry  and 

Verges. 

Leon.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neighbour? 

Dogb.  Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  confidence  with 
you  that  decernes  you  nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  I  pray  you ;  for  you  see  it  is  a  busy  time 
with  me. 

Dogb.  Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 
Verg.  Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.  What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Dogb.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  of  the 
matter ;  an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not  so  blunt 
as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were ;  but  in  faith 
honest  as  the  skin  between  his  brows. 

Verg.  Yes,  I  thank  God  I  am  as  honest  as  any  man 
living;  that  is,  an  old  man,  and  no  honester  than  I. 

Dogb.  Comparisons  are  odorous :  palabras,  neighbour 
Verges. 

Leo7i.  Neighbours,  you  are  tedious. 

Dogb.  It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so,  but  we  are 
the  poor  duke's  of^cers  ;  but  truly,  for  mine  own  part,  if 
I  were  as  tedious  as  a  king  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to 
bestow  it  all  of  your  worship. 

Leon.  All  thy  tediousness  on  me,  ah } 

Dogb.  Yea,  and  'twere  a  thousand  times  more  than 
'tis ;  for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your  worship 
as  of  any  man  in  the  city ;  and  though  I  be  but  a  poor 
man,  I  am  orlad  to  hear  it. 

Vero^.  And  so  am  I. 

Leon.   I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verg.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,  excepting  your 
worship's  presence,  have  ta'en  a  couple  of  as  arrant 
knaves  as  any  in  Messina. 

Dogb.  A  good  old  man,  sir ;  he  will  be  talking ;  as 
they  say.  When  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out.  God  help 
us!  it  is  a  world  to  see!  —  Well  said,  i'faith,  neio^hbour 
Verges;  well,  God's  a  good  man;  and  two  men  ride 
of  a  horse,  one  must  ride  behind. — An  honest  soul, 
i'faith,  sir;  by  my  troth  he  is,  as  ever  broke  bread.     But 


46  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

God  is  to  be  worshipped.  All  men  are  not  alike,  alas, 
good  neighbour! 

Leon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of  you. 

Dogb.  Gifts  that  God  gives. 

Leon.   I  must  leave  you. 

Dogb.  One  word,  sir;  our  watch,  sir,  have,  indeed, 
comprehended  two  aspicious  persons,  and  we  would 
have  them  this  morning  examined  before  your  worship. 

Leon.  Take  their  examination  yourself,  and  bring  it 
me ;  I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  may  appear  unto 
you. 

Dogb.  It  shall  be  sufiigance.  S^Exit. 

Leon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go ;  fare  you  well. 

Mess.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your  daugh- 
ter to  her  husband. 

Leon.  I'll  wait  upon  them ;  I  am  ready. 

Dogb.  Go,  good  partner ;  go,  get  you  to  Francis  Sea- 
coal  ;  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to  the  gaol. 
We  are  now  to  examine  those  men. 

Ve7'g.  And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dogb.  We  will  spare  for  no  wit,  I  warrant  you ; 
here's  that  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a  non  com. 
Only  get  the  learned  writer  to  set  down  our  excom- 
munication, and  meet  me  at  the  goal.  \Exennt. 


ACT   IV 

Scene   I. — Enter    Prince,   Bastard,   Leonato,   Friar, 
Claudio,  Benedick,  Hero,  and  Beatrice. 

Leon.  Come,  Friar  Francis,  be  brief ;  only  to  the 
plain  form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their  par- 
ticular duties  afterwards. 

Friar.  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this 
lady .? 

Claud.  No. 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her:  friar,  you  come  to  marry 
her. 

Friar.  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to  this 
count? 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  47 

Hero.  I  do. 

Friar.  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impediment 
why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge  you  on  your 
souls  to  utter  it. 

Claud.   Know  you  any,  Hero.'* 

Hero.   None,  my  lord. 

Friar.   Know  you  any,  count  } 

Leon.  I  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud.  Oh,  what  men  dare  do !  what  men  may  do ! 
what  men  daily  do  ! 

Bene.  How  now !  Interjections }  Why,  then,  some 
be  of  laughing,  as,  ha  !  ha!  he  ! 

Claud.  Stand   thee  by,  friar. — Father,  by  your  leave. 
Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  me  this  maid  your  daughter.? 

Leon.  As  freely,  son,  as  God  did  give  her  me. 

Clatid.  And   what  have   I   to  give   you   back,  whose 
worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift.!* 

Prince.  Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again. 

Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  nobie  thankful- 
ness.— 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again. 
Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She's  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honour. 
Behold,  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here! 
Oh,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal ! 
Comes  not  that  blood  as  modest  evidence 
To  witness  simple  virtue .?     Would  you  not  swear, 
All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid 
By  these  exterior  shows  } — But  she  is  none. 
She  knows  the  heat  of  a  luxurious  bed: 
Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 

Leon.  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  .? 

Claud.   ^  Not  to  be  married, 

Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.  Dear  my  lord,  if  you  in  your  own  proof 
Have  vanquish'd  the  resistance  of  her  youth, 
And  made  defeat  of  her  vir^initv. 


48  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Claud.  I  know  what  you  would  say.     If  I  have  known 
her, 
You  will  say  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband, 
And  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin.     No,  Leonato, 
I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  large, 
But  as  a  brother  to  his  sister  showed 
Bashful  sincerity  and  comely  love. 

Hero.  And  seem'd  I  ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 

Claud.  Out  on  thy  seeming  !   I  will  write  against  it 
You  seem  to  me  as  Diane  in  her  orb  ; 
As  chaste  as  is  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  ; 
But  you  are  more  intemperate  in  your  blood 
Than  Venus,  or  those  pampered  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensualit)^ 

Hero.  Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide  ? 

Leo7i.  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  you  } 

Prince.  What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  dishonour'd,  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leon.  Are  these  things  spoken  }  or  do  I  but  dream  ? 

Bast.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things  are  true. 

Bene.  This  looks  not  like  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True,  O  God  ! 

Claud.  Leonato,  stand  I  here  t 
Is  this  the  prince.?     Is  this  the  prince's  brother .^^ 
Is  this  face  Hero's  }     Are  our  eyes  our  own  } 

Leon.  All  this  is  so ;  but  what  of  this,  my  lord } 

Claud.  Let    me    but    move    one    question    to   your 
daughter, 
And  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon.  I  charge  thee  do,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.  O  God,  defend  me  !  how  am  I  beset ! — 
What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this } 

Clatid.  To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name. 

Hero.  Is   it   not    Hero  1     Who   can  blot   that  name 
With  any  just  reproach  } 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero  ; 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  he  talk'd  with  you  yesternight 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  49 

Out  at  your  window  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  answer  to  this. 

Hero.  I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  ray  lord. 

Prifice.  Why,  then,  you  are  no  maiden. — Leonato, 
I  am  sorry  you  must  hear.     Upon  mine  honour. 
Myself,  my  brother,  and  this  grieved  count 
Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night. 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber-window ; 
Who  hath,  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal  villain, 
Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

John,  Fie,  fie !  they  are  not  to  be  named,  my  lord, 
Not  to  be  spoken  of; 

There  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language 
Without  offence  to  utter  them.     Thus,  pretty  lady, 
I  am  sorry  for  thy  much  misgovernment. 

Claud.  O  Hero !  what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been, 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts  and  counsels  of  thy  heart ! 
But  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair !  farewell, 
Thou  pure  impiety  and  impious  purity ! 
For  thee  I'll  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love, 
And  on  my  eyelids  shall  conjecture  hang. 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  harm. 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious. 

Leon.  Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for  me  1 

Beat.  Why,  how   now,  cousin }  wherefore  sink  you 
down } 

Bast.  Come,  let  us  go :  these   things,  come   thus  to 
light, 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

Bene.  How  doth  the  lady  ? 

Beat.  Dead,  I  think  ;  help,  uncle  ! 

Hero!    why.   Hero! — Uncle!  —  Signior   Benedick! — 
friar  ? 

Leon.  O  Fate,  take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand ! 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beat.  How  now,  cousin  Hero."^ 

Friar.  Have  comfort,  lady. 


50  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Leon.  Dost  thou  look  up  ? 

Friar.  Yea ;  wherefore  should  she  not  ? 

Leoji.  Wherefore?      Why,   doth    not   every  earthly 
thing 
Cry  shame  upon  her  ?     Could  she  here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ? 
Do  not  live,  Hero ;  do  not  ope  thine  eyes : 
For  did  I  think  thou  wouldst  not  quickly  die, 
Thought  I  thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames, 
Myself  would,  on  the  reward  of  reproaches, 
Strike  at  thy  life.     Griev'd  I,  I  had  but  one  ? 
Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  ? 
Oh,  one  too  much  by  thee !     Why  had  I  one  ? 
Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes  ? 
Why  had  I  not  with  charitable  hand 
Took  up  a  beggar's  issue  at  my  gates ; 
Who  smeared  thus,  and  mired  with  infamy, 
I  might  have  said.  No  part  of  it  is  mine  ; 
This  shame  derives  itself  from  unk?wwn  loins. 
But  mine,  and  mine  I  lov'd,  and  mine  I  prais'd, 
And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on;  mine  so  much, 
That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine, 
Valuing  of  her:  why,  she — Oh,  she  is  fallen 
Into  a  pit  of  ink !  that  the  wide  sea 
Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again ; 
And  salt  too  little,  which  may  season  give 
To  her  foul  tainted  flesh  ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient.     For  my  part,  I  am  so  at- 
tired  in  wonder,  I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beat.  Oh,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied. 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night } 

Beat.  No,  truly,  not ;    although,  until    last   night,   I 
have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  Confirm'd,  confirm'd !      Oh,  that   is    stronger 
made 
Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  ribs  of  iron ! 
Would  the  princes  lie  ?  and  Claudio  lie  ? 
Who  lov'd  her  so,  that,  speaking  of  her  foulness, 
Wash'd  it  with  tears  }     Hence  from  her ;  let  her  die. 

Friar.  Hear  me  a  little,  for  I  have  only  been  silent 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  51 

SO  long,  and  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune,  by 

noting  of  the  lady.     I  have  mark'd 

A  thousand  blushing  apparitions 

To  start  into  her  face;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 

In  angel  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes; 

And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  fire 

To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 

Against  her  maiden  truth.     Call  me  a  fool ; 

Trust  not  my  reading  nor  my  observations, 

Which  with  experimental  zeal  doth  warrant 

The  tenure  of  my  book ;  trust  not  my  age, 

My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity, 

If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 

Under  some  biting  error. 

L(^on.  Friar,  it  cannot  be. 

Thou  seest  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left 
Is,  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A  sin  of  perjury;  she  not  denies  it; 
Why  seek'st  thou  then  to  cover  with  excuse 
That  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness .? 

Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accus'd  of  ? 
Hero.  They  know  that  do  accuse  me ;   I  know  none. 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant. 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy ! — Oh,  my  father, 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  convers'd 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature ; 
Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death. 

Friar.  There    is    some    strange    misprision   in    the 

princes. 
Bene.  Two  of  them  have  the  verv  bent  of  honour; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this. 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard. 
Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villanies. 

Leon.  I  know  not;  if  they  speak  but  truth  of  her, 
These  hands  shall  tear  her;  if  they  wrong  her  honour 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 


52  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means, 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends, 
But  they  shall  find,  awak'd  in  such  a  kind. 
Both  strength  of  limb,  and  policy  of  mind. 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends, 
To  quit  me  of  them  thoroughly. 

Friar.  Pause  awhile, 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  daughter  here,  the  princess,  left  for  dead, 
Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in. 
And  publish  it,  that  she  is  dead  indeed. 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation  ; 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial. 

Leon.  What  shall  become  of  this.^*     What  will  this 
do? 

Friar.  Marry,  this  well  carried  shall,  on  her  behalf, 
Change  slander  to  remorse ;  that  is  some  good. 
But  not  for  that  dream  I  on  this  strange  course, 
But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 
She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintain'd. 
Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accus'd, 
Shall  be  lamented,  pitied  and  excus'd 
Of  every  hearer.     For  it  so  falls  out 
That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth 
While  we  enjoy  it*,  but  being  lack'd  and  lost. 
Why,  then  we  reck  the  value ;  then  we  find 
The  virtue  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
While  it  was  ours.     So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio : 
When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words, 
The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination; 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 
More  moving-delicate  and  full  of  life 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul, 
Than  when  she  liv'd  indeed.     Then  shall  he  mourn, 
(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver), 
And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  53 

No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 
Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 
Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 
But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell'd  false, 
The  supposition  of  the  lady's  death 
Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy ; 
And,  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her 
(As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation) 
In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life, 
Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds,  and  injuries. 

Bene.  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you ; 
And  though  you  know  my  inwardness  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly  and  justly  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 

Leo7i.  Being  that  I  flow  in  grief. 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar,  'Tis  well  consented ;  presently  away ; 

For  to   strange   sores   strangely  they  strain    the 
cure. 

Come,  lady,  die  to  live.     This  wedding-day 

Perhaps  is  but  prolong'd ;  have  patience,  and  en- 
dure. \^Exit. 

Bene.  Lady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this  while  } 

Beat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 

Bene.  I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beat.  You  have  no  reason ;   I  do  it  freely. 

Bene.  Surely,  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is  wrong'd. 

Beat.  Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of  me 
that  would  right  her  1 

Bene.  Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  friendship  1 

Beat.  A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 

Bene.  May  a  man  do  it  ? 

Beat.  It  is  a  man's  office,  but  not  yours. 

Be7ie.  I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as  you ; 
is  not  that  strange } 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thing  I  know  not.     It  were 
as  possible  for  me  to  say  I  loved  nothing  so  well  as 


54  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

you  ;  but  believe  me  not,  and  yet  I  He  not ;  I  confess 
nothing,  nor  I  deny  nothing.     I  am  sorry  for  my  cousin. 

Bene.  By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beat.  Do  not  swear  by  it  and  eat  it. 

Bene.  I  will  swear  by  it  that  you  love  me,  and  I  will 
make  him  eat  it  that  says  I  love  not  you. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  eat  your  word .? 

Bene.  With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it.  I 
protest  I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Why  then,  God  forgive  me ! 

Bene.  What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  You  have  stayed  me  in  a  happy  hour.  I  was 
about  to  protest  I  loved  you. 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat.  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart  thait 
none  is  left  to  protest. 

Bene.  Come,  bid  me  do  anything  for  thee. 

Beat.  Kill  Claudio, 

Bene.  Ha !  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  You  kill  me  to  deny.     Farewell. 

Bc7ie.  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone,  though  I  am  here.  There  is  no 
love  in  you.     Nay,  I  pray  you  let  me  go. 

Bene.  Beatrice — 

Beat.  In  faith,  I  will  go. 

Bene.  We'll  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me  than  fight 
with  mine  enemy. 

Bene.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy } 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain  that 
hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my  kinswoman  ? 
Oh,  that  I  were  a  man  !  What !  bear  her  in  hand  un- 
til they  come  to  take  hands ;  and  then  with  public  ac- 
cusation, uncovered  slander,  unmitigated  rancour  ? — O 
God  that  I  were  a  man!  I  would  eat  his  heart  in  the 
market-place. 

Be7ie.  Hear  me,  Beatrice — 

Beat.  Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window.''  A  proper 
saying. 

Bene.  Nay,  but,  Beatrice — 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  55 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero !  she  is  wronged,  she  is  slandered, 
she  is  undone. 

Bene.  Beat — 

Beat.  Princes  and  counties !  Surely  a  princely  tes- 
timony, a  goodly  count-confect ;  a  sweet  gallant,  surely! 
Oh,  that  I  were  a  man  for  his  sake !  or  that  I  had  any 
friend  would  be  a  man  for  my  sake !  But  manhood  is 
melted  into  courtesies,  valour  into  compliment,  and  men 
are  only  turned  into  tongue,  and  trim  ones  too.  He  is 
now  as  valiant  as  Hercules,  that  only  tells  a  lie  and 
swears  it.  I  cannot  be  a  man  with  wishing,  therefore 
I  will  die  a  woman  with  grieving, 

Befie.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice  ;  by  this  hand  I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than  swear- 
ing by  it. 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  Count  Claudio 
hath  wrong'd  Hero? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought  or  a  soul. 

Bene.^  Enough ;  I  am  engaged ;  I  will  challenge  him. 
I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  leave  you.  By  this  hand 
Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  account.  As  you  hear 
of  me,  so  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort  your  cousin  ;  I 
must  say  she  is  dead,  and  so  farewell.  [Exeunt. 

Scene    II.  —  Enter  the  Constables,  Borachio,  and  the 
Town  Clerk  in  £-ow?is. 

Keeper.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  1 

Cowley.  Oh,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton ! 

Sexton.  Which  be  the  malefactors } 

Andrew.  Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Cowley.  Nay,  that's  certain ;  we  have  the  exhibition 
to  examine. 

Sexton.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be 
examined .?  let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Kemp.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me.  What 
is  you  name,  friend  ? 

Bora.  Borachio. 

Kemp.  Pray  write  down  Borachio.     Yours,  sirrah  ? 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  Conrade. 


S6  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Kemp.  Write  down  —  master  gentleman  Conrade. 
Masters,  do  you  serve  God  ?  Masters,  it  is  proved  al- 
ready that  you  are  little  better  than  false  knaves ;  and 
it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  shortly.  How  answer 
you  for  yourselves  ? 

Con.  Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Kemp.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you  ;  but 
I  will  go  about  with  him.  Come  you  hither,  sirrah  ;  a 
word  in  your  ear ;  I  say  to  you,  it  is  thought  you  are 
false  knaves. 

Bora.  Sir,  I  say  to  you  we  are  none. 

Kemp.  Well,  stand  aside.  'Fore  God  they  are  both 
in  a  tale.     Have  you  writ  down — that  they  are  none } 

Sexton.  Master  constable,  you  go  not  the  way  to  ex- 
amine ;  you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are  their  ac- 
cusers. 

Kemp.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way.  Let  the 
watch  come  forth.  Masters,  I  charge  you  in  the 
prince's  name,  accuse  these  men. 

Watch  I.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the 
prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Kemp.  Write  down — Prince  John  a  villain.  Wliy, 
this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother  villain. 

Bora.  Master  constable — 

Kemp.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace  ;  I  do  not  like  thy 
look,  I  promise  thee. 

Sexton.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  .? 

Watch  2.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thousand 
ducats  of  Don  John  for  accusing  the  Lady  Hero 
wrongfully. 

Kemp.  Flat  burglary  as  ever  was  committed. 

Const.  Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  it  is. 

Sexton.  What  else,  fellow  ? 

Watch  I.  And  that  Count  Claudio  did  mean,  upon 
his  words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole  assembly, 
and  not  marry  her. 

Kemp.  Oh,  villain !  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into  ever- 
lasting redemption  for  this. 

Sexton.  What  else  ? 

Watch  2.  This  is  all. 


Plate  8 
DOST  THOU    NOT  SUSPECT   MY    PLACE?" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  iv.,  scene  ii. 


Jfi'^M^^ 


a,      >^, 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  57 

Sexton.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can  deny. 
Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen  away.  Hero 
was  in  this  manner  accus'd,  in  this  very  manner  re- 
fus'd,  and  upon  the  grief  of  this  suddenly  died.  Master 
constable,  let  these  men  be  bound  and  brought  to  Le- 
onato's.  I  will  go  before  and  show  him  their  examina- 
ation.  \Exit. 

Const.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

Sexton.  Let  them  be  in  the  hands  of  Coxcombe. 

Kemp.  God's  my  life  !  where 's  the  sexton  ?  Let  him 
write  down  the  prince's  officer  coxcomb.  Come,  bind 
them — thou  naughty  varlet. 

Cozuley.  Away  !  you  are  an  ass  !  you  are  an  ass ! 

Kejnp.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place  }  Dost  thou 
not  suspect  my  years  .f*  Oh,  that  he  were  here  to  write 
me  down  an  ass! — but,  masters,  remember  that  I  am 
an  ass  ;  though  it  be  not  written  down,  yet  forget  not 
ye  I  am  an  ass.  No,  thou  villain,  thou  art  full  of 
piety,  as  shall  be  proved  upon  thee  by  good  witness.  I 
am  a  wise  fellow ;  and,  which  is  more,  an  officer ;  and, 
which  is  more,  a  householder;  and,  which  is  more,  as 
pretty  a  piece  of  flesh  as  any  in  Messina ;  and  one 
that  knows  the  law,  go  to ;  and  a  rich  fellow  enough, 
go  to;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had  losses;  and  one  that 
hath  two  gowns,  and  everything  handsome  about  him. 
Bring  him  away.  Oh,  that  I  had  been  writ  down  an 
ass.  \_Exit. 

ACT  V 

Scene   L — Enter  Leonato  and  his  Brother. 

Broth.  If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself ; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee  cease  thy  counsel, 
Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve  ;  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Nor  let  no  comfort  delight  mine  ear 
But  such  a  one  whose  wrongs  doth  suit  with  mine. 
Bring  me  a  father  that  so  lov'd  his  child. 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelmed  like  mine. 


S8  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 

Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine, 

And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain  ; 

As  thus  for  thus,  and  such  a  grief  for  such, 

In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form. 

If  such  a  one  will  smile  and  stroke  his  beard, 

And  sorrow,  wag,  cry  hem  when  he  should  groan  ; 

Patch  grief  with  proverbs ;  make  misfortune  drunk 

With  candle-wasters  ;  bring  him  yet  to  me, 

And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 

But  there  is  no  such  man  :  for,  brother,  men 

Can  counsel  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 

Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but,  tasting  it, 

Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 

Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage. 

Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread. 

Charm  ache  with,  air,  and  agony  with  words, 

No,  no ;  'tis  all  men's  office  to  speak  patience 

To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow ; 

But  no  man's  virtue  nor»  sufficiency 

To  be  so  moral  when  he  shall  endure 

The  like  himself:  therefore,  give  me  no  counsel; 

My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement. 

Broth.  Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  peace ;   I  will  be  flesh  and  blood  ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  toothache  patiently. 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods. 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Broth.  Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself ; 
Make  those  that  do  offend  you  suffer  too. 

Leon.  There  thou  speak'st  reason  :  nay,  I  will  do  so. 
My  soul  doth  tell  me  Hero  is  belied. 
And  that  shall  Claudio  know,  so  shall  the  prince, 
And  all  of  them  that  thus  dishonour  her. 


Enter  Prince  and  Claudio. 

Broth.  Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio,  hastily. 
Prince.  Good-den,  good-den. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  59 

Claud.  Good-day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.  Hear  you,  my  lords  ? 

Prince.  We  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

Leon.  Some  haste,  my  lord! — well,  fare  you  well,  my 
lord ; 
Are  you  so  hasty  now  ? — well,  all  is  one. 

Prince.  Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man. 

Broth.  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling. 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  wrongs  him  ? 

Leo7i.  Marry,  thou  dost  wrong  me  ;  thou  dissembler, 
thou. 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword, 
I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand, 
If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear ; 
In  faith,  my  hand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.  Tush,  tush,  man ;  never  fleer  and  jest  at  me. 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool ; 
As,  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag 
What  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do, 
Were  I  not  old.     Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head. 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  my  innocent  child  and  me. 
That  I  am  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by ; 
And,  with  gray  hairs  and  JDruise  of  many  days, 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child  ; 
Thy    slander  hath    gone    through    and    through    her 

heart, 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors. 
Oh,  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept, 
Save  this  of  hers,  fram'd  by  thy  villany. 

Claud.  My  villany  } 

Leon.  Thine,  Claudio ;  thine,  I  say. 

Prince.  You  say  not  right,  old  man. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, 
I'll  prove  it  on  his  body  if  he  dare. 
Despite  his  nice  fence  and  his  active  practice, 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustyhood. 

Claud.  Away,  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 


6o  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Leon.  Can'stthousodaffme?  Thou  hastkill'd  my  child; 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man. 

Broth.  He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed  ; 
But  that's  no  matter ;  let  him  kill  one  first. 
Win  me  and  wear  me  ;  let  him  answer  me. 
Come,  follow  me,  boy ;  come,  sir  boy,  come,  follow  me ; 
Sir  boy,  I'll  whip  you  from  your  foining  fence. 
Nay,  as  I  am  a  gentleman  I  will. 

Leon.  Brother — 

Broth.  Content  yourself.  God  knows  I  lov'd  my  niece; 
And  she  is  dead,  slander'd  to  death  by  villains 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man,  indeed, 
As  I  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue. 
Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  jacks,  milksops! 

Leon.  Brother  Anthony — 

Broth.  Hold  you  content.   What,  man  !  I  know  them, 
yea. 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple. 
Scrambling,  out-facing,  fashion-mong'ring  boys, 
That  lie,  and  cog,  and  flout,  deprave,  and  slander, 
Go  anticly,  and  show  outward  hideousness, 
And  speak  off  half  a  dozen  dang'rous  words, 
How  they  might  hurt  their  enemies,  if  they  durst, 
And  this  is  all. 

Leon.  But,  brother  Anthony — 

Ant.  Come,  'tis  no  matter ; 
Do  not  you  meddle,  let  me  deal  in  this. 

Prince.  Gentlemen  both,  we  will  not  wake  your  pa- 
tience. 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  ; 
But,  on  my  honour,  she  was  charg'd  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord — 

Prince.  I  will  not  hear  you. 

Enter  Benedick. 

Leon.  No  .''     Come,  brother,  away  ;  I  will  be  heard. 
Broth.  And  shall, 

Or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it.  \_Exeunt  umbo. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  6i 

Prince.  See,  see ;  here  comes  the  man  we  went  to  seek. 

Claud.  Now,  signior  !  what  news  ? 

Bene.  Good-day,  my  lord. 

Prince.  Welcome,  signior  ;  you  are  almost  come  to 
part  almost  a  fray. 

Cland.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses  snap- 
ped off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

Prince.  Leonato  and  his  brother.  What  think'st 
thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt  we  should  have  been 
too  young  for  them. 

Be7ie.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour.  I 
came  to  seek  you  both. 

Cland.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee,  for 
we  are  high-proof  melancholy,  and  would  fain  have  it 
beaten  away.     Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit  ? 

Bene.   It  is  in  my  scabbard.     Shall  I  draw  it  ? 

Prince.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  ? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many  have  been 
beside  their  wit.  I  will  bid  thee  draw,  as  we  do  the 
minstrels.     Draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

Prince.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale.  Art 
thou  sick,  or  angry } 

Claud.  What !  courage,  man !  What  though  care 
killed  a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to  kill 
care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  and 
you  charge  it  against  me.  I  pray  you,  choose  another 
subject. 

Claud.  Nay,  then  give  him  another  staff ;  this  last  was 
broke  cross. 

Prince.  By  this  light  he  changes  more  and  more.  I 
think  he  be  angry  indeed. 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle. 

Bene.  Shall  I  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.  God  bless  me  from  a  challenge. 

Bene.  You  are  a  villain.  I  jest  not.  I  will  make  it 
good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and  when  you 
dare.  Do  me  right  or  I  will  protest  your  cowardice. 
You  have  killed  a  sweet  lady,  and  her  death  shall  fall 
heavy  on  you.     Let  me  hear  from  you. 


62  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Claud.  Well,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have  good 
cheer. 

Prince.  What,  a  feast  ?  a  feast  ? 

Claud.  I'faith,  I  thank  him.  He  hath  bid  me  to  a 
calf's  head  and  a  capon,  the  which  if  I  do  not  carve 
most  curiously,  say  my  knife's  naught.  Shall  I  not 
find  a  woodcock  too  ? 

Bene.  Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well ;  it  goes  easily. 

Prince.  I'll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy  wit  the 
other  day:  I  said  thou  hadst  a  fine  wit.  True,  says  she,  a 
a  fine  little  one.  No,  said  I,  a  great  wit.  Right,  says  she, 
great  gross  one.  Nay,  said  I,  a  good  wit.  Just,  said  she, 
it  hurts  nobody.  Nay,  said  I,  the  gentleman  is  wise. 
Certain,  said  she,  a  wise  gentleman.  Nay,  said  I,  he 
hath  the  tongues.  That  I  believe,  said  she,  for  he  swore 
a  thing  to  me  on  Monday  night  which  he  foreswore  on 
Tuesday  morning.  There's  a  double  tongue;  there's 
two  tongues.  Thus  did  she,  an  hour  together,  trans- 
shape  thy  particular  virtues.  Yet  at  last  she  concluded 
with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  properest  man  in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily,  and  said  she 
cared  not. 

Prince.  Yea,  that  she  did.  But  yet  for  all  that,  and  if 
she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would  love  him  dearly. 
The  old  man's  daughter  told  us  all. 

Claud.  All,  all,  and  moreover,  God  saw  him  zvhen  he 
was  hid  in  the  garden. 

Prince.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage  bull's  horns 
on  the  sensible  Benedick's  head  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath,  Here  dwells  Bene- 
dick the  married  man  ? 

Bene.  Fare  you  well,  boy ;  you  know  my  mind.  I 
will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humour;  you 
break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades,  which,  God  be 
thanked,  hurt  not.  My  lord,  for  your  many  courtesies 
I  thank  you.  I  must  discontinue  your  company.  Your 
brother,  the  bastard,  is  fled  from  Messina.  You  have, 
among  you,  killed  a  sweet  and  innocent  lady.  For  my 
lord  Lack-beard  there,  he  and  I  shall  meet;  and  till 
then,  peace  be  with  him. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  63 

Prince.  He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud.  In  most  profound  earnest;  and,  I'll  warrant 
you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

Prince.  And  hath  challenged  thee  ? 

Claud.  Most  sincerely. 

Prince.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is,  when  he  goes 
in  his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit. 

Enter  Constable,  Conrade,  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape;  but  then  is  an 
ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 

Prince.  But,  soft  you,  let  me  be ;  pluck  up  my  heart, 
and  be  sad !     Did  he  not  say  my  brother  was  fled  ? 

Const.  Come,  you,  sir;  if  Justice  cannot  tame  you,  she 
shall  ne'er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her  balance.  Nay,  and 
you  be  a  cursing  hypocrite  once,  you  must  be  looked  to. 

Prince.  How  now,  two  of  my  brother's  men  bound ! 
Borachio  one  ! 

Claud.  Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord  ? 

Prince.  Officers,  what  offence  have  these  men  done? 

Const.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  report; 
moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths  ;  secondarily,  they 
are  slanders ;  sixth  and  lastly,  they  have  belied  a  lady ; 
thirdly,  they  have  verified  unjust  things  ;  and,  to  con- 
clude, they  are  lying  knaves. 

Prince.  First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have  done  ;  thirdly, 
I  ask  thee  what's  their  offence ;  sixth  and  lastly,  why 
they  are  committed ;  and,  to  conclude,  what  you  lay  to 
their  charge } 

Claud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division ; 
and,  by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well  suited. 

Prince.  Whom  have  you  offended,  masters,  that  you 
are  thus  bound  to  your  answer  .f^  this  learned  constable 
is  too  cunning  to  be  understood.    What's  your  offence  } 

Bora.  Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  further  to  mine  an- 
swer; do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count  kill  me.  I 
have  deceived  even  your  very  eyes.  What  your  wisdoms 
could  not  discover,  these  shallow  fools  have  brought  to 
light ;  who,  in  the  night,  overheard  me  confessing   to 


64  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

this  man  how  Don  John,  your  brother,  incensed  me  to 
slander  the  Lady  Hero ;  how  you  were  brought  into  the 
orchard,  and  saw  me  court  Margaret  in  Hero's  gar- 
ments; how  you  disgraced  her,  when  you  should  marry 
her.  My  villany  they  have  upon  record ;  which  I  had 
rather  seal  with  my  death  than  repeat  over  to  my  shame. 
The  lady  is  dead  upon  mine  and  my  master's  false  ac- 
cusation ;  and,  briefly,  I  desire  nothing  but  the  reward 
of  a  villain. 

Prince.  Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through  your 
blood.? 

Claud.  I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  it. 

Prince.  But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this  t 

Bora.  Yea,  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice  of  it. 

Prince.  He  is  compos'd  and  fram'd  of  treachery. 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villany. 

Clatui.  Sweet  Hero!  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  loved  it  first. 

Const.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiffs ;  by  this  time 
our  Sexton  hath  reformed  Signior  Leonato  of  the  mat- 
ter. And,  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify,  when  time 
and  place  shall  serve,  that  I  am  an  ass. 

Const.  2.  Here,  here  comes  master  Signior  Leonato, 
and  the  Sexton  too. 

Enter  Leonato. 

Leon.  Which  is  the  villain?   Let  me  sees  his  eyes; 
That  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him.     Which  of  these  is  he? 

Bora.  If  you  would  know  your  wronger,  look  on  me. 

Leon.  Art  thou  the  slave  that  with  thy  breath  hast 
kill'd  mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

Leon.  No,  not  so,  villain ;  thou  beliest  thyself ; 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men. 
A  third  is  fled,  that  had  a  hand  in  it. 
I  thank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter's  death  ; 
Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds ; 
'Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  65 

Claud.  I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience, 
Yet  I  must  speak.     Choose  your  revenge  yourself; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin;  yet  sinn'd  I  not, 
But  in  mistaking. 

Prince.  By  my  soul,  nor  I  ; 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leo7i.  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live — 
That  were  impossible ;  but,  I  pray  you  both, 
Possess  the  people  in  Messina  here 
How  innocent  she  died ;  and,  if  your  love 
Can  labour  aught  in  sad  invention, 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb, 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones ;  sing  it  to-night. 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house ; 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son-in-law, 
Be  yet  my  nephew:  my  brother  hath  a  daughter 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead. 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us ; 
Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin, 
And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud.  Oh,  noble  sir. 

Your  over-kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me ! 
I  do  embrace  your  offer,  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.  To-morrow,  then,  I  will  expect  your  coming ; 
To-night  I  take  my  leave.     This  naughty  man 
Shall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  pack'd  in  all  this  wrong, 
Hired  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not; 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did  when  she  spoke  to  me ; 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous. 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Const.  Moreover,  sir  (which,  indeed,  is  not  under 
white  and  black),  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender,  did 
call  me  ass.  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  remembered  in 
his  punishment.    And  also,  the  watch  heard  them  talk 


66  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

of  one  Deformed :  they  say  he  wears  a  key  in  his  ear, 
and  a  lock  hanging  by  it,  and  borrows  money  in  God's 
name ;  the  which  he  hath  used  so  long  and  never  paid 
that  now  men  grow  hard-hearted,  and  will  lend  noth- 
ing for  God's  sake.  Pray  you,  examine  him  upon  that 
point. 

Leon.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Const.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful  and 
reverend  youth,  and  I  praise  God  for  you. 

Leon.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

Const.  God  save  the  foundation. 

Leon.  Go,  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and  I 
thank  thee. 

Const.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship, 
which  I  beseech  your  worship  to  correct  yourself  for 
the  example  of  others.  God  keep  your  worship ;  I  wish 
your  worship  well;  God  restore  you  to  health  ;  I  hum- 
bly give  you  leave  to  depart ;  and  if  a  merry  meeting 
may  be  wished,  God  prohibit  it.     Come,  neighbour. 

Leon.   Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 

\_Exeiuit. 

Broth.  Farewell,  my  lords  ;  we  look  for  you  to-morrow. 

Prince.  We  will  not  fail. 

Claud.  To-night  I'll  mourn  with  Hero. 

Leon.  Bring  you  these  fellows  on ;  we'll  talk  with 
Margaret,  how  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd 
fellow.  \Exeiint. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Benedick  and  Margaret. 

Bene.  Pray  thee,  sweet- mistress  Margaret,  deserve 
well  at  my  hands  by  helping  me  to  the  speech  of 
Beatrice. 

Mar.  Will  you  then  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise  of 
my  beauty  ? 

Bejie.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man  living 
shall  come  over  it ;  for,  in  most  comely  truth,  thou  de- 
servest  it. 

Mar.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me,  why,  shall  I 
always  keep  below  stairs  ? 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  67 

Bene.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound  s  mouth 
— it  catches. 

Mar.  And  yours  as  blunt  as  the  fencers'  foils,  which 
hit,  but  hurt  not. 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit ;  Margaret,  it  will  not  hurt 
a  woman ;  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice,  I  give 
thee  the  bucklers. 

Mar.  Give  us  the  swords,  we  have  bucklers  of  our 
own. 

Bene.  If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put  in  the 
pikes  with  a  vise ;  and  they  are  dangerous  weapons 
for  maids. 

Mar.  Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who  I  think 
hath  legs.  S^Exit  Margaret. 

Bene.  And  therefore  will  come. 

The  god  of  love. 
That  sits  above, 
And  ktiows  me,  and  knows  me. 
How  pitiful  I  deserve — 

I  mean,  in  singing;  but  in  loving — Leander  the  good 
swimmer,  Troilus  the  first  employer  of  panders,  and  a 
whole  book  full  of  these  quondam  carpet- mongers, 
whose  names  yet  run  smoothly  in  the  even  road  of  a 
blank  verse,  why,  they  were  never  so  truly  turned  over 
and  over  as  my  poor  self  in  love.  Marry,  I  cannot 
show  it  in  rhyme ;  I  have  tried ;  I  can  find  out  no 
rhyme  to  lady  but  baby,  an  innocent  rhyme ;  for  scorn, 
horn,  a  hard  rhyme;  for  school,  fool,  a  babbling  rhyme; 
very  ominous  endings.  No,  I  was  not  born  under  a 
rhyming  planet,  for  I  cannot  woo  in  festival  terms. — 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  would  st  thou  come  when  I  called  thee.'* 
Beat.  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 
Bene.  Oh,  stay  but  till  then  ! 

Beat.  Then,  is  spoken.  Fare  you  well  now,  and  yet, 
ere  I  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came,  which  is,  with 
knowing  what  hath  passed  between  you  and  Claudio. 


68  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Bene.  Only  foul  words;  and  thereupon  I  will  kiss 
thee. 

Beat.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind  is 
but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome;  therefore  I 
will  depart  unkissed. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his  right 
sense,  so  forcible  is  thy  wit;  but,  I  must  tell  thee 
plainly,  Claudio  undergoes  my  challenge ;  and  either  I 
must  shortly  hear  from  him,  or  I  will  subscribe  him  a 
coward.  And,  I  pray  thee  now  tell  me,  for  which  of 
my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first  fall  in  love  with  me  1 

Beat.  For  them  all  together,  which  maintain'd  so 
politic  a  state  of  evil  that  they  will  not  admit  any  good 
part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But  for  which  of  my 
good  parts  did  you  first  suffer  love  for  me } 

Bene.  Stiff er  love ;  a  good  epithet!  I  do  suffer  love, 
indeed,  for  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think ;  alas,  poor 
heart !  If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite  it  for 
yours ;  for  I  will  never  love  that  which  my  friend 
hates. 

Bene.  Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession ;  there's  not 
one  wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise  himself. 

Bene.  An  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that  lived  in 
the  time  of  sfood  neig^hbours ;  if  a  man  do  not  erect  in 
this  age  his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he  shall  live  no 
longer  in  monuments  than  the  bell  rings  and  the 
widow  weeps. 

Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you? 

Bene.  Question.^  Why,  an  hour  in  clamour,  and  a 
quarter  in  rheum;  therefore  is  it  most  expedient  for  the 
wise  (if  Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  find  no  impedi- 
ment to  the  contrary)  to  be  the  trumpet  of  his  own 
virtues,  as  I  am  to  myself.  So  much  for  praising  my- 
self, who,  I  myself  will  bear  witness,  is  praiseworthy ; 
and  now  tell  me,  how  doth  your  cousin. 

Beat.  Very  ill. 

Bene.  And  how  do  you? 

Beat.  Very  ill  too. 


Plate  9 

DONE  TO  DEATH  BY  SLANDEROUS  TONGUES  WAS  THE 
HERO  THAT   HERE   LIES" 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  act  v.,  scene  iii. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  69 

Enter  Ursula. 

Bene.  Serve  God,  love  me,  and  mend  ;  there  will  I 
leave  you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Urs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle ;  yon- 
der s  old  coil  at  home.  It  is  proved  my  Lady  Hero  hath 
been  falsely  accused,  the  prince  and  Claudio  mightily 
abused,  and  Don  John  is  the  author  of  all,  who  is  fled 
and  gone.     Will  you  come  presently } 

Beat.  Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  signior.? 

Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap,  and  be 
buried  in  thy  eyes ;  and,  moreover,  I  will  go  with  thee 
to  thy  uncle's.  {^Excunt. 

Scene   III. — Enter  Claudio,  Prince,  and  three  or  four 

with  tapers. 

Claiid.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato? 
Lord.   It  is,  my  lord. 

EPITAPH. 

Done  to  death  by  slandcroits  tongues 

Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies. 
Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  wrong. 

Gives  her  fame  whieh  never  dies. 
So  the  life  that  died  with  shaine. 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 

Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb. 
Praising  her  when  I  am  dumb. — 

Claud.  Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn 
hymn. 

SONG. 

Pardon,  Goddess  of  the  night. 
Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight. 
For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe, 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go, 

Alidnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 

Help  us  to  sigh  and  groaft, 
Heavily,  heavily. 

Graves  yawn  and  yield  your  dead, 

Till  death  be  uttered, 
Heavenly,  heave7ily. 

Lord.  Now  unto  thy  bones  good-night ! 
Yearly  will  I  do  this  rite. 


70  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Prince.  Good-morrow,  masters  ;  put  your  torches  out ; 
The  wolves  have  prey'd ;  and  look,  the  gentle  day, 

Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 
Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  gray. 

Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us ;  fare  you  well. 

Claud.  Good-morrow,  masters  ;  each  his  several  way. 

PiHiice.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other  weeds ; 
And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go. 

Claud.  And  Hymen  now  with  luckier  issue  speeds 
Than  this,  for  whom  we  render'd  up  this  woe ! 

\Exeunt. 

Scene    IV.  —  Enter   Leonato,    Benedick,   Margaret, 
Ursula,  Old  Man,  Friar,  Hero. 

Friar.  Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent? 

Leon.  So  are  the   prince   and   Claudio,  who   accus'd 
her 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated. 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this  ; 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

O.  Man.  Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Be7ie.  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforc'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

Leon.  Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all, 
Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves ; 
And  when  I  send  for  you  come  hither  mask'd. 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promised  by  this  hour 
To  visit  me. — You  know  your  of^ce,  brother; 
You  must  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter, 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio.  \Excunt  Ladies. 

O.  Man.  Which  I  will  do  with  confirm'd  countenance. 

Bene.  Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 

Friar.  To  do  what,  sign i or  .f* 

Bene.  To  bind  me,  or  undo  me,  one  of  them. — 
Siguier  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior, 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 

Leon.  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her,  'tis  most  true. 

Be7ie.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  71 

Leon.  The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had  from  me. 
From  Claudio,  and  the  prince.     But  what's  your  will  ? 

Bene.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical ; 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
May  stand  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 
In  the  state  of  honourable  marriage ; 
In  which,  good  friar,  I  shall  desire  your  help. 

Leon.   My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 

Friar.  And  my  help. 

Enter  Prince  and  Claudio,  with  Attendants, 

Prince.  Good-morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 

Leon.  Good-morrow,  prince  ;  good-morrow,  Claudio. 
We  here  attend  you ;  are  you  yet  determin'd 
To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daughter  } 

Clanci.  I'll  hold  my  mind,  were  she  an  Ethiope. 

Leon.  Call  her  forth,  brother,  here's  the  friar  ready. 

Prince.  Good-morrow,   Benedick.     Why,  what's    the 
matter, 
That  you  have  such  a  February  face, 
So  full  of  frost,  of  storm,  and  cloudiness  } 

Cland.  I  think  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull. 
Tush,  fear  not,  man,  we'll  tip  thy  horns  with  gold, 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee, 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bene.  Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low  ; 
And  some  such  strange  bull  leap'd  your  father's  cow, 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat, 
Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Enter  Brother,  Hero,  Beatrice,  Margaret,  Ursula. 

Claud.  For  this  I  owe  you:  here  comes  other  reck- 
onings. 
Which  is  the  lady  I  must  seize  upon  t 

Leon.  This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  you  her. 

Claud.  Why,  then   she's    mine.     Sweet,  let   me   see 
your  face. 


72  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Leon.  No,  that  you  shall  not  till  you  take  her  hand 
Before  this  friar,  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  your  hand  before  this  holy  friar. 
I  am  your  husband  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  when  I  lived,  I  was  your  other  wife; 
And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband. 

Claud.  Another  Hero ! 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer. 

One  Hero  died ;  but  I  do  live. 
And  surely  as  I  live  I  am  a  maid. 

Prince.  The  former  Hero  !     Hero  that  is  dead  ! 

Leon.  She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander  liv'd. 

Friar.  All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify. 
When,  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
ril  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death. 
Meantime,  let  wonder  seem  familiar. 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  jDresently. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar,  which  is  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  I  answer  to  that  name ;  what  is  your  will  ? 

Bene.  Do  not  you  love  me  .f* 

Beat.  Why,  no,  no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.  Why,  then,   your   uncle   and   the    prince    and 
Claudio 
Have  been  deceiv'd ;    they  swore  you  did. 

Beat.  Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  no,  no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.  Why,  then  my  cousin  Margaret  and  Ursula 
Are  much  deceiv'd ;  for  they  did  swear  you  did. 

Bene.  They  swore  you  were  almost  sick  for  me. 

Beat.  They  swore  you  were  wellnigh  dead  for  me. 

Bene.  'Tis  no  matter.     Then  you  do  not  love  me  1 

Beat.  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leon.  Come,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the  gentleman. 

Clatid.  And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't  that  he  loves  her; 
For  here's  a  paper  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashioned  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here's  another, 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  affection  unto  Benedick. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  73 

Bene.  A  miracle!  here's  our  own  hands  against  our 
hearts ! — Come,  I  will  have  thee ;  but,  by  this  light,  I 
take  thee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  you  ;  but,  by  this  good  day, 
I  yield  upon  great  persuasion,  and,  partly,  to  save  your 
life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  consumption. 

Leon.  Peace,  I  will  stop  your  mouth. 

Prince.  How  dost  thou.  Benedick  the  married  man } 

Bene.  I'll  tell  thee  what,  prince  :  a  college  of  wit- 
crackers  cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour.  Dost  thou 
think  I  care  for  a  satire  or  an  epigram  t  No.  If  a 
man  will  be  beaten  with  brains,  he  shall  wear  nothing 
handsome  about  him.  In  brief,  since  I  do  purpose  to 
marry,  I  will  think  nothing  to  any  purpose  that  the 
world  can  say  against  it;  and  therefore  never  flout  at 
me  for  what  I  have  said  against  it ;  for  man  is  a  giddy 
thing,  and  this  is  my  conclusion  :  For  thy  part,  Claudio, 
I  did  think  to  have  beaten  thee;  but  in  that  thou  art 
like  to  be  my  kinsman,  live  unbruised  and  love  my 
cousin. 

Cland.  I  had  well  hop'd  thou  wouldst  have  denied 
Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out  of  thy 
single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer;  which  out  of 
question  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin  do  not  look  exceed- 
ing narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends.  Let's  have  a 
dance  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  our  own 
hearts  and  our  wives'  heels. 

Leon.  We'll  have  dancing  afterwards. 

Bene.  First,  of  my  word:  therefore  play  music.  Prince, 
thou  art  sad ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a  wife :  there  is 
no  staff  more  reverend  that  one  tipped  with  horn. 

Enter  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in  flight, 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow.  I'll  devise 
thee  brave  punishments  for  him. — Strike  up,  pipers. 

\Dance. 


As  You  Like  It 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED 

Duke,  living  in  exile. 

Frederick,  Brother  to  the  Duke,  and 
Usurper  of  his  Dottiinions. 

Amiens  )  Lords  atiejiding  upon  the  Duke  in 

Jaques    \       his  banishment. 

Le  Beau,  a  Courtier  attending  upon  Fred- 
erick. 

Charles,  his  Wrestler. 

Oliver      ) 

Jaques       /-  Sons  ^Sir  Rowland  de  Bois. 

Orlando  ) 

Adam      |  Servants  to  Oliver. 

Dennis  \ 

Touchstone,  a  Clown. 

Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  a  Vicar. 

^°^^^      I  Shepherds. 
Sylvius  )       ^ 

William,    a    Country   Fellow,    in    love   with 

Audrey. 

A  Person  representing  Hymen. 

Rosalind,  Daughter  to  the  banished  Duke. 

Celia,  Daughter  to  Frederick. 

Phebe,  a  Shepherdess. 

Audrey,  a  Country  Wench. 

Lords  belonging  to  the  two  Dukes ;  Pages, 
Foresters,  and  other  Attendants. 

The  Scene  lies,  first,  near  Oliver's  House ; 
afterwards,  partly  in  the  Usurper's 
Court,  and  partly  in  the  Forest  of 
Arden. 


As  You  Like  It 

ACT   I 

Scene  I. — Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

ORLANDO.  As  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  upon 
this  fashion  bequeathed  me  by  will ;  but  a 
poor  thousand  crowns,  and,  as  thou  say'st, 
charged  my  brother,  on  his  blessing,  to  breed  me  well : 
and  there  begins  my  sadness.  My  brother  Jaques  he 
keeps  at  school,  and  report  speaks  goldenly  of  his 
profit :  for  my  part,  he  keeps  me  rustically  at  home,  or, 
to  speak  more  properly,  stays  me  here  at  home  unkept. 
For  call  you  that  keeping  for  a  gentleman  of  my  birth 
that  differs  not  from  the  stalling  of  an  ox  1  His  horses 
are  bred  better;  for,  besides  that  they  are  fair  with 
their  feeding,  they  are  taught  their  manage,  and  to  that 
end  riders  dearly  hired  ;  but  I,  his  brother,  gain  nothing 
under  him  but  growth,  for  the  which  his  animals  on 
his  dung-hills  are  as  much  bound  to  him  as  I.  Besides 
this  nothing  that  he  so  plentifully  gives  me,  the  some- 
thing that  nature  gave  me,  his  countenance  seems  to 
take  from  me:  he  lets  me  feed  with  his  hinds,  bars  me 
the  place  of  a  brother,  and,  as  much  as  in  him  lies, 
mines  my  gentility  with  my  education.  This  is  it, 
Adam,  that  grieves  me ;  and  the  spirit  of  my  father, 
which  I  think  is  within  me,  begins  to  mutiny  against 
this  servitude.  I  will  no  longer  endure  it,  though  yet  I 
know  no  wise  remedy  how  to  avoid  it. 


78  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Enter  Oliver. 

Adam.  Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother. 

Orl.  Go  apart,  Adam,  and  thou  shalt  hear  how  he 
will  shake  me  up. 

OH.  Now,  sir !  what  make  you  here .? 

OrL  Nothing.     I  am  not  taught  to  make  anything. 

OH.  What  mar  you  then,  sir.^ 

Oj'I.  Marry,  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that  which 
God  made,  a  poor  unworthy  brother  of  yours,  with  idle- 
ness. 

OH.  Marry,  sir,  be  better  employed,  and  be  naught 
awhile. 

Orl.  Shall  I  keep  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with 
them }  What  prodigal  portion  have  I  spent,  that  I 
should  come  to  such  penury } 

OH.  Know  you  where  you  are,  sir.? 

Orl.  Oh,  sir,  very  well :  here  in  your  orchard. 

OH.  Know  you  before  whom,  sir.? 

Orl.  Ay,  better  than  him  I  am  before  knows  me.  I 
know  you  are  my  eldest  brother;  and,  in  the  gentle 
condition  of  blood,  you  should  so  know  me.  The 
courtesy  of  nations  allows  you  my  better,  in  that  you 
are  the  first-born;  but  the  same  tradition  takes  not 
away  my  blood,  were  there  twenty  brothers  betwixt  us. 
I  have  as  much  of  my  father  in  me  as  you ;  albeit,  I 
confess  your  coming  before  me  is  nearer  to  his  rever- 
ence. 

OH.  What,  boy ! 

Orl.  Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too  young  in 
this. 

OH.  Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain } 

Orl.  I  am  no  villain  ;  I  am  the  youngest  son  of  Sir 
Rowland  de  Bois ;  he  was  my  father;  and  he  is  thrice 
a  villain  that  says  such  a  father  begot  villains.  Wert 
thou  not  my  brother,  I  would  not  take  this  hand  from 
thy  throat  till  this  other  had  pulled  out  thy  tongue  for 
saying  so.     Thou  hast  railed  on  thyself. 

Adam.  Sweet  masters,  be  patient ;  for  your  father's 
remembrance,  be  at  accord. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  79 

Oil.  Let  me  go,  I  say. 

OrL  I  will  not,  till  I  please.  You  shall  hear  me.  My 
father  charg'd  you  in  his  will  to  give  me  good  educa- 
tion. You  have  trained  me  like  a  peasant,  obscuring 
and  hiding  from  me  all  gentlemanlike  qualities.  The 
spirit  of  my  father  grows  strong  in  me,  and  I  will  no 
longer  endure  it.  Therefore  allow  me  such  exercises  as 
may  become  a  gentleman,  or  give  me  the  poor  allottery 
my  father  left  me  by  testament ;  with  that  I  will  go  buy 
my  fortunes. 

OIL  And  what  wilt  thou  do  .-^  beg,  when  that  is 
spent }  Well,  sir,  get  you  in.  I  will  not  long  be  trou- 
bled with  you.  You  shall  have  some  part  of  your  will. 
I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Orl.  I  will  no  further  offend  you  than  becomes  me 
for  my  good. 

Oli.  Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog. 

Adam,  Is  old  dog  my  reward  ?  Most  true,  I  have 
lost  my  teeth  in  your  service. — God  be  wdth  my  old 
master !  he  would  not  have  spoke  such  a  word. 

\^Exeunt  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Oli.  Is  it  even  so.?  begin  you  to  grow  upon  me  .'^  I 
will  physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no  thousand 
crowns  neither.     Holla,  Dennis  ! 

Enter  Dennis. 

Den.  Calls  your  worship  .f* 

Oli.  Was  not  Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler,  here  to 
speak  with  me } 

Den.  So  please  you,  he  is  here  at  the  door,  and  im- 
portunes access  to  you. 

Oli.  Call  him  in.  'Twill  be  a  good  way ;  and  to- 
morrow the  wrestling  is. 

Enter  Charles. 

Cha.  Good-morrow  to  your  worship. 
Oli.  Good  Monsieur  Charles ! — what's  the  new  news 
at  the  new  court } 


8o  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Cha.  There's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the  old 
news ;  that  is,  the  old  duke  is  banished  by  his  younger 
brother,  the  new  duke ;  and  three  or  four  loving  lords 
have  put  themselves  into  voluntary  exile  with  him, 
whose  lands  and  revenues  enrich  the  new  duke ;  there- 
fore he  gives  them  good  leave  to  wander. 

Oil.  Can  you  tell  if  Rosalind,  the  duke  s  daughter, 
be  banished  with  her  father? 

Cha.  Oh,  no  ;  for  the  duke's  daughter,  her  cousin,  so 
loves  her — beinor  ever  from  their  cradles  bred  too^eth- 
er — that  she  would  have  followed  her  exile,  or  have 
died  to  stay  behind  her.  She  is  at  the  court,  and  no 
less  beloved  of  her  uncle  than  his  own  daughter;  and 
never  two  ladies  loved  as  they  do. 

Oil.  Where  will  the  old  duke  live? 

Cha.  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Arden, 
and  a  many  merry  men  with  him  ;  and  there  they  live 
like  the  old  Robin  Hood  of  England.  They  say  many 
voung  gentlemen  flock  to  him  every  day,  and  fleet  the 
time  carelessly,  as  they  did  in  the  golden  world. 

Oil.  What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the  new 
duke  ? 

Cha.  Marry,  do  I,  sir ;  and  I  came  to  acquaint  you 
with  a  matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to  understand 
that  your  younger  brother,  Orlando,  hath  a  disposi- 
tion to  come  in  disguise  against  me  to  try  a  fall.  To- 
morrow, sir,  I  wrestle  for  my  credit ;  and  he  that  es- 
capes me  without  some  broken  limb  shall  acquit  him 
well.  Your  brother  is  but  young  and  tender;  and, 
for  your  love,  I  would  be  loath  to  foil  him,  as  I  must, 
for  my  own  honour,  if  he  come  in;  therefore,  out  of 
my  love  to  you  I  came  hither  to  acquaint  you  withal, 
that  either  you  might  stay  him  from  his  intendment, 
or  brook  such  disgrace  well  as  he  shall  run  into,  in 
that  it  is  a  thing  of  his  own  search,  and  altogether 
against  my  will. 

Oli.  Charles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me,  which 
thou  shalt  find  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  I  had  my- 
self notice  of  my  brother's  purpose  herein,  and  have  by 
underhand  means  labored  to  dissuade  him  from  it ;  but 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  8i 

he  is  resolute.  I'll  tell  thee,  Charles,  it  is  the  stub- 
bornest  young  fellow  of  France ;  full  of  ambition,  an 
envious  emulator  of  every  man's  good  parts,  a  secret 
and  villanous  contriver  against  me  his  natural  brother. 
Therefore,  use  thy  discretion.  I  had  as  lief  thou  didst 
break  his  neck  as  his  finger;  and  thou  wert  best  look 
to't ;  for  if  thou  dost  him  any  slight  disgrace,  or  if  he 
do  not  mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he  will  practice 
against  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  iDy  some  treach- 
erous device,  and  never  leave  thee  till  he  hath  ta'en  thy 
life  by  some  indirect  means  or  other;  for,  I  assure  thee, 
and  almost  with  tears  I  speak  it,  there  is  not  one  so 
young  and  so  villanous  this  day  living.  I  speak  but 
brotherly  of  him ;  but  should  I  anatomize  him  to  thee 
as  he  is,  I  must  blush  and  weep,  and  thou  must  look 
pale  and  wonder. 

Cha.  I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  hither  to  you.  If  he 
come  to-morrow,  Til  give  him  his  payment.  If  ever  he 
go  alone  again.  Til  never  wrestle  for  prize  more.  And 
so,  God  keep  your  worship  !  \_Exit. 

OH.  Farewell,  good  Charles.  —  Now  will  I  stir  this 
gamester.  I  hope  I  shall  see  an  end  of  him ;  for  my 
soul,  yet  I  know  not  why,  hates  nothing  more  than  he. 
Yet  he's  gentle ;  never  school'd,  and  yet  learned ;  full 
of  noble  device  ;  of  all  sorts  enchantingly  beloved ;  and, 
indeed,  so  much  in  the  heart  of  the  world,  and  espe- 
cially of  my  own  people,  who  best  know  him,  that  I  am 
altogether  misprised ;  but  it  shall  not  be  so  long ;  this 
wrestler  shall  clear  all;  nothing  remains,  but  that  I 
kindle  the  boy  thither,  which  now  I'll  go  about. 

\_Exii. 

Scene  II. — Efiter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Cel.  I  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 

Ros.  Dear  Celia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am  mis- 
tress of;  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier.?  Unless 
you  could  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished  father,  you 
must  not  learn  me  how  to  remember  any  extraordinary 
pleasure. 


82  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ccl.  Herein,  I  see,  thou  lovest  me  not  with  the  full 
weight  that  I  love  thee ;  if  my  uncle,  thy  banished 
father,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  the  duke  my  father,  so 
thou  hadst  been  still  with  me,  I  could  have  taught  my 
love  to  take  thy  father  for  mine ;  so  wouldst  thou,  if 
the  truth  of  thy  love  to  me  were  so  righteously  tem- 
per'd  as  mine  is  to  thee. 

Ros.  Well,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate 
to  rejoice  in  yours. 

Cel.  You  know,  my  father  hath  no  child  but  I,  nor 
none  is  like  to  have ;  and,  truly,  when  he  dies,  thou 
shalt  be  his  heir ;  for  what  he  hath  taken  away  from 
thy  father  perforce,  I  will  render  thee  again  in  affec- 
tion ;  by  mine  honour,  I  will ;  and  when  I  break  that 
oath,  let  me  turn  monster;  therefore,  my  sweet  Rose, 
my  dear  Rose,  be  merry. 

Ros.  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and  devise  sports. 
Let  me  see;  what  think  you  of  falling  in  love  .-^ 

Cel.  Marry,  I  prithee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal ;  but 
love  no  man  in  good  earnest ;  nor  no  further  in  sport, 
neither,  than  with  safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou  may'st  in 
honour  come  off  again. 

Ros.  What  shall  be  our  sport,  then  ? 

Cel.  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife  Fort- 
une from  her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  henceforth  be 
bestowed  equally. 

Ros.  I  would  we  could  do  so ;  for  her  benefits  are 
mightily  misplaced ;  and  the  bountiful  blind  woman 
doth  most  mistake  in  her  gifts  to  women. 

Cel.  'Tis  true ;  for  those  that  she  makes  fair,  she 
scarce  makes  honest;  and  those  that  she  makes  honest, 
she  makes  very  ill-favouredly. 

Ros.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  fortune's  office  to 
nature's ;  fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world,  not  in  the 
lineaments  of  nature. 

Enter  Clown. 

Cel.  No;  when  nature  hath  made  a  fair  creature, 
may  she  not  by  fortune  fall  into  the  fire  .f*     Though 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  83 

nature  hath  given  us  wit  to  flout  at  fortune,  hath  not 
fortune  sent  in  this  fool  to  cut  off  the  argument? 

Ros.  Indeed,  there  is  fortune  too  hard  for  nature; 
when  fortune  makes  nature's  natural  the  cutter  off  of 
nature's  wit. 

Cel.  Peradventure,  this  is  not  fortune's  work  neither, 
but  nature's ;  who  perceiveth  our  natural  wits  too  dull 
to  reason  of  such  goddesses,  hath  sent  this  natural  for 
our  whetstone ;  for  always  the  dulness  of  the  fool  is 
the  whetstone  of  the  wits. —  How  now,  wit  .^^  whither 
wander  you  t 

Clonm.  Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your  father, 

Cel.  Were  you  made  the  messenger  .f* 

Clown.  No,  by  mine  honour;  but  I  was  bid  to  come 
for  you. 

Ros.  Where  learned  you  that  oath,  fool  .^ 

Clown.  Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swore  by  his  hon- 
our they  were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his  hon- 
our the  mustard  was  naught.  Now,  I'll  stand  to  it, 
the  pancakes  were  naught,  and  the  mustard  was  good ; 
and  yet  was  not  the  knight  forsworn. 

Cel.  How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  of  your 
knowledge } 

Ros.  Ay,  marry;  now  unmuzzle  your  wisdom. 

Clown.  Stand  you  both  forth  now;  stroke  your  chins, 
and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

Cel.  By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Clown.  By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were ;  but 
if  you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not  forsworn  ; 
no  more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by  his  honour,  for 
he  never  had  any;  or  if  he  had,  he  had  sworn  it  away 
before  ever  he  saw  those  pancakes  or  that  mustard. 

Cel.  Prithee,  who  is't  that  thou  mean'st } 

Clown.  One  that  old  Frederick,  your  father,  loves. 

Ros.  My  father's  love  is  enough  to  honour  him. 
Enough!  speak  no  more  of  him;  you'll  be  whipp'd  for 
taxation  one  of  these  days. 

Clown.  The  more  pity  that  fools  may  not  speak 
wisely  what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 

Cel.  By  my  troth,  thou  sayest  true  ;  for,  since  the  little 


84  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

wit  that  fools  have  was  silenced,  the  little  foolery  that 
wise  men  have  makes  a  great  show.  Here  comes  Mon- 
sieur the  Beau. 


Efiter  Le  Beau. 

Ros.  With  his  mouth  full  of  news. 

Cel.  Which  he  will  put  on  us  as  pigeons  feed  their 
young. 

Ros.  Then  shall  we  be  news-cramm'd. 

Cel.  All  the  better;  we  shall  be  the  more  market- 
able.   Bon  jour,  Monsieur  le  Beau.     What's  the  news.? 

Le  Beau.  Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  much  good 
sport. 

Cel.  Sport }     Of  what  colour } 

Le  Beau.  What  colour,  madam  }  how  shall  I  answer 
you  } 

Ros.  As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Clown.  Or  as  the  destinies  decree. 

Cel.  Well  said ;  that  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

Clown.  Nay,  if  I  keep  not  my  rank — 

Ros.  Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 

Le  Beau.  You  amaze  me,  ladies;  I  would  have  told 
you  of  good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost  the  sight  of. 

Ros.  Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestlinor. 

Le  Beau.  I  will  tell  you  the  beginning,  and,  if  it 
please  your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end ;  for  the 
best  is  yet  to  do ;  and  here,  where  you  are,  they  are 
coming  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  Well — the  beginning,  that  is  dead  and  buried. 

Le  Beau.  There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three 
sons. 

Cel.  I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

Le  Beau.  Three  proper  young  men  of  excellent 
growth  and  presence — 

Cel.  With  bills  on  their  necks.  Be  it  known  unto 
all  men  by  these  presents. 

Le  Beau.  The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with 
Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler;  which  Charles  in  a  mo- 
ment threw  him,  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs,  that  there 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  85 

is  little  hope  of  life  in  him.  So  he  served  the  second, 
and  so  the  third.  Yonder  they  lie,  the  poor  old  man, 
their  father,  making  such  pitiful  dole  over  them  that  all 
the  beholders  take  his  part  with  weeping. 

Ros.  Alas ! 

Clown.  But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that  the  la- 
dies have  lost  ? 

Le  Bcmi.  Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Clown.  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day  !  It  is 
the  first  time  that  ever  I  heard  breaking  of  ribs  was 
sport  for  ladies. 

Cel.  Or  I,  I  promise  thee. 

Ros.  But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken 
music  in  his  sides  ?  Is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon 
rib-breaking  ?     Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

Le  Bea2i.  You  must  if  you  stay  here,  for  here  is  the 
place  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they  are  ready  to 
perform  it. 

Cel.  Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming.  Let  us  now  stay 
and  see  it. 

Flonrish.     Enter  Duke,  Lords,  Orlando,  Charles, 
and  Attendants. 

Duke.  Come  on ;  since  the  youth  will  not  be  en- 
treated, his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 

Ros.  Is  yonder  the  man  } 

Le  Beau.  Even  he,  madam. 

Cel.  Alas,  he  is  too  young.  Yet  he  looks  success- 
fully. 

Duke.  How  now,  daughter  and  cousin  }  Are  you 
crept  hither  to  see  the  wrestling  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  my  liege ;  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duke.  You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can  tell 
you,  there  is  such  odds  in  the  men.  In  pity  of  the 
challenger's  youth  I  would  fain  dissuade  him,  but  he 
will  not  be  entreated.  Speak  to  him,  ladies  ;  see  if  you 
can  move  him. 

Cel.  Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  le  Beau. 

Duke.  Do  so ;  I'll  not  be  by. 


86  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Le  Beau.  Monsieur  the  challenger,  the  princess  calls 
for  you. 

Orl.  I  attend  them,  with  all  respect  and  duty. 

Ros.  Young  man,  you  have  challenged  Charles  the 
wrestler } 

Orl.  No,  fair  princess;  he  is  the  general  challenger. 
I  come  but  in  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him  the  strength 
of  my  youth. 

Cel.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold  for 
your  years.  You  have  seen  cruel  proof  of  this  man's 
strength.  If  you  saw  yourself  with  your  eyes,  or  knew 
yourself  with  your  judgment,  the  fear  of  your  adventure 
would  counsel  you  to  a  more  equal  enterprise.  We 
pray  you  for  your  own  sake  to  embrace  your  own  safe- 
ty, and  give  over  this  attempt. 

Ros.  Do,  young  sir ;  your  reputation  shall  not  there- 
fore be  misprised.  We  will  make  our  suit  to  the  duke 
that  the  wrestling  might  not  go  forward. 

Old.  I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts ;  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty  to  deny 
so  fair  and  excellent  ladies  anything.  But  let  your  fair 
eyes  and  gentle  wishes  go  with  me  to  my  trial ;  where- 
in, if  I  be  foiled,  there  is  but  one  sham'd  that  was  never 
gracious  ;  if  killed,  but  one  dead  that  is  willing  to  be 
so.  I  shall  do  my  friends  no  wrong,  for  I  have  none  to 
lament  me  ;  the  world  no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  noth- 
ing. Only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a  place  which  may  be 
better  supplied  when  I  have  made  it  empty. 

Ros.  The  little  strength  that  I  have  I  would  it  were 
with  you. 

Cel.  And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 

Ros.  Fare  you  well.  Pray  Heaven  I  be  deceived  in 
you! 

Cel.  Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you. 

Char.  Come,  where  is  this  young  gallant  that  is  so 
desirous  to  lie  with  his  mother-earth  } 

Orl.  Ready,  sir ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more  mod- 
est working. 

Duke.  You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Char.  No,  I  warrant  your  grace   you  shall   not  en- 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  87 

treat  him  to  a  second,  that  have  so  mightily  persuaded 
him  from  a  first. 

Orl.  You  mean  to  mock  me  after.     You  should  not 
have  mocked  me  before  ;  but  come  your  ways. 

Ros,  Now,  Hercules  be  thy  speed,  young  man  ! 

Cel.   I  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong  fel- 
low by  the  leg.  [  Wrestle. 

Ros.  Oh,  excellent  young  man! 

Cel.  If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in  mine  eye,  I  can  tell 
who  should  down.  \_Shout. 

Duke.  No  more,  no  more. 

Orl.  Yes,  I  beseech  your  grace;   I  am  not  yet  well- 
breathed. 

Duke.  How  dost  thou,  Charles  ? 

Le  Beati.  He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Bear  him  away. 
What  is  thy  name,  young  man  ? 

Orl.  Orlando,   my  liege;    the  youngest   son   of   Sir 
Rowland  de  Bois. 

Duke.  I  would   thou   hadst   been   son  to  some  man 
else. 
The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honourable, 
But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy. 
Thou  shouldst  have  better  pleas'd  me  with  this  deed 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 
But  fare  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth  ; 
I  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

\^Exit  Duke. 

Cel.  Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  ? 

Orl.  I  am  more  proud  to  be  Sir  Rowland  s  son, 
His  youngest  son,  and  would  not  change  that  calling 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick. 

Ros.  My  father  lov'd  Sir  Rowland  as  his  soul, 
And  all  the  world  was  of  my  father's  mind. 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son, 
I  should  have  given  him  tears  unto  entreaties 
Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventur'd. 

Cel.  Gentle  cousin, 
Let  us  go  thank  him,  and  encourage  him. 
My  father's  rough  and  envious  disposition 


88  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Sticks  me  at  heart.     Sir,  you  have  well  deserv'd, 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love  ; 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  all  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 

Ros.  Gentleman, 
Wear  this  for  me.     One  out  of  suits  with  fortune. 
That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks  means. 
Shall  we  go,  coz  ? 

Cel.  Ay.  Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman. 

Orl.  Can  I  not  say  I  thank  you  1  My  better  parts 
Are  all  thrown  down,  and  that  which  here  stands  up 
Is  but  a  quintain,  a  mere  lifeless  block. 

Ros.  He  calls  us  back.     My  pride  fell  with  my  fort- 
unes. 
I'll  ask  him  what  he  would.     Did  you  call,  sir.? 
Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown 
More  than  your  enemies. 

Cel.  Will  you  go,  coz  } 

Ros.  Have  with  you.     Fare  you  well.  \^Exit. 

Orl.  What  passion  hangs   these   weights  upon  my 
tongue } 
I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urg'd  conference. 

Enter  Le  Beau. 

Oh,  poor  Orlando  !     Thou  art  overthrown. 

Or  Charles,  or  something  weaker,  masters  thee. 

Le  Bean.  Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place.     Albeit  you  have  deserv'd 
High  commendation,  true  applause,  and  love  ; 
Yet  such  is  now  the  duke's  condition 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous.     What  he  is,  indeed. 
More  suits  you  to  conceive  than  I  to  speak  of. 

Orl.  I  thank  you,  sir;  and,  pray  you,  tell  me  this: 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter  of  the  duke. 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling.? 

Le  Bemt.  Neither  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by  man- 
ners ; 
But  yet,  indeed,  the  taller  is  his  daughter. 


Plate  ii 

HE  CALLS   US   BACK.     MY   PRIDE    FELL  WITH    MY 
FORTUNES  " 

As  You  Like  It,  act  i.,  scene  ii. 


Ls.^ 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  89 

The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banish'd  duke, 
And  here  detain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle 
To  keep  his  daughter  company  ;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
But  I  can  tell  you  that  of  late  this  duke 
Hath  ta'en  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece, 
Grounded  upon  no  other  argument 
But  that  the  people  praise  her  for  her  virtues, 
And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake. 
And  on  my  life,  his  malice  'gainst  the  lady 
Will  suddenly  break  forth.     Sir,  fare  you  well ! 
Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 

Orl.  I  rest  much  bounden  to  you.     Fare  you  well ! 
Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother; 
From  tyrant  duke  unto  a  tyrant  brother. 
But  heavenly  Rosalind !  \_Exit. 

Scene  HI. — Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  cousin ;  why,  Rosalind.  Cupid  have 
mercy  ! — Not  a  word  } 

Ros.  Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 

Cel.  No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast  away 
upon  curs ;  throw  some  of  them  at  me ;  come,  lame  me 
with  reasons. 

Ros.  Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up ;  when 
the  one  should  be  lamed  with  reasons,  and  the  other 
mad  without  any. 

Cel.  But  is  all  this  for  your  father  .^^ 

Ros.  No,  some  of  it  is  for  my  child's  father.  Oh,  how 
full  of  briars  is  this  working-day  world ! 

Cel.  They  are  but  burs,  cousin,  thrown  upon  thee  in 
holiday  foolery ;  if  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden  paths, 
our  very  petticoats  will  catch  them. 

Ros.  I  could  shake  them  off  my  coat;  these  burs 
are  in  my  heart. 

Cel.  Hem  them  away. 

Ros.  I  would  try,  if  I  could  cry  hem,  and  have  him. 

Cel.  Come,  come,  wrestle  with  thy  affections. 


90  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ros.  Oh,  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler  than 
myself. 

Cel.  Oh,  a  good  wish  upon  you  !  you  will  try  in  time, 
in  despite  of  a  fall.  But  turning  these  jests  out  of 
service,  let  us  talk  in  good  earnest.  Is  it  possible,  on 
such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall  into  so  strong  a  liking 
with  old  Sir  Rowland  s  youngest  son  .^ 

Ros.  The  duke  my  father  loved  his  father  dearly. 

Cel.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue  that  you  should  love 
his  son  dearly?  By  this  kind  of  chase  I  should  hate 
him,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly ;  yet  I  hate 
not  Orlando. 

Ros.  No  'faith,  hate  him  not  for  my  sake. 

Cel.  Why  should  I  not  ?  doth  he  not  deserve  well } 

Enter  Duke,  zuith  Lords. 

Ros.  Let  me  love  him  for  that ;  and  do  you  love  him 
because  I  do.     Look,  here  comes  the  duke. 

Cel.  With  his  eyes  full  of  anger. 

Duke.    Mistress,    dispatch     you    with     your    safest 
haste. 
And  get  you  from  our  court. 

Ros.  Me,  uncle  } 

Duke.  You,  cousin ; 

W^ithin  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles, 
Thou  diest  for  it. 

Ros.  I  do  beseech  your  grace, 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me. 
If  with  myself  I  hold  intelligence, 
Or  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires , 
If  that  I  do  not  dream,  or  be  not  frantic 
(As  I  do  trust  I  am  not),  then,  dear  uncle, 
Never,  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn, 
Did  I  offend  your  highness. 

Duke.  Thus  do  all  traitors  ; 

If  their  purgation  did  consist  in  words. 
They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself. 
Let  it  sufHce  thee  that  I  trust  thee  not. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  ir  91 

Ros.  Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor. 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke.  Thou  art  thy  father's  daughter,  there's  enough. 

Ros.  So  was  I  when  your  highness  took  his  dukedom  ; 
So  was  I  when  your  highness  banished  him. 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord  ; 
Or,  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends, 
What's  that  to  me;  my  father  was  no  traitor. 
Then  good  my  liege,  mistake  me  not  so  much 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

Cel.  Dear  sovereign,  hear  me  speak. 

Duke.  Ay,  Celia ;  we  stay'd  her  for  your  sake. 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  rang'd  along. 

Cel.  I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay; 
It  was  your  pleasure  and  your  own  remorse  ; 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her, 
But  now  I  know  her.     If  she  be  a  traitor. 
Why  so  am  I.     We  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together. 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled  and  inseparable. 

Duke.  She  is  too  subtle  for  thee ;  and  her  smooth- 
ness. 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience, 
Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 
Thou  art  a  fool ;  she  robs  thee  of  thy  name ; 
And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright,  and  seem  more  virt- 
uous. 
When  she  is  gone.     Then  open  not  thy  lips ; 
Firm  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 
Which  I  have  pass'd  upon  her;  she  is  banish'd. 

Cel.  Pronounce  that  sentence  then  on  me,  my  liege  ; 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company. 

Duke.  You  are  a  fool. — You,  niece,  provide  yourself; 
If  you  out-stay  the  time,  upon  mine  honour. 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

\_Exeunt  Duke,  &c. 

Cel.  Oh,  my  poor  Rosalind,  whither  wilt  thou  go.-^ 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers?   I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  charge  thee  be  not  thou  more  griev'd  than  I  am. 


92  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ros.  I  have  more  cause. 

Cel.  Thou  hast  not,  cousin  ; 

Pr  ythee  be  cheerful :  know'st  thou  not  the  duke 
Hath  banish'd  me  his  daughter? 

Ros.  That  he  hath  not. 

Cel.  No  .f*  hath  not  ?   RosaHnd  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teacheth  thee  that  thou  and  I  are  one. 
Shall  we  be  sunder'd }  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl } 
No  ;  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore,  devise  with  me  how  we  mayfly. 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us  ; 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  your  change  upon  you, 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself,  and  leave  me  out ; 
For,  by  this,  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale, 
Say  what  thou  canst,  I'll  go  along  with  thee. 

Ros.  Why,  whither  shall  we  go  1 

Cel.  To  seek  my  uncle  in  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Ros.  Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us. 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far } 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Cel.  I'll  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire, 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber  smirch  my  face ; 
The  like  do  you ;  so  shall  we  pass  along, 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Ros.  Were  it  not  better, 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall. 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man .? 
A  gallant  curtle-axe  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar  spear  in  my  hand ;  and  (in  my  heart 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will) 
We'll  have  a  swashing  and  a  martial  outside. 
As  many  other  manish  cowards  have, 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 

Cel.  What  shall  I  call  thee  when  thou  art  a  man } 

Ros.  I'll   have    no  worse    a  name   than    Jove's   own 
page, 
And  therefore,  look  you,  call  me  Ganymede. 
But  what  will  you  be  call'd  ? 

Cel.  Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state  ; 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena. 


AS    voir  LIKE  IT  93 

Ros.  But,  cousin,  what  if  we  essay 'd  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court  ? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel  ? 

Cel.  He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him.     Let's  away 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together, 
Devise  the  fittest  time,  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight.     Now  go  we  in  content, 
To  liberty,  and  not  to  banishment.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT   II 

Scene    L — Enter  Duke    Senior,  Amiens,  and  two  or 
three  Lords  like  Foresters. 

Duke  S.  Now,  my  co-mates  and  brothers  in  exile, 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp  ?  Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  1 
Here  feel  we  not  the  penalty  of  Adam, 
The  seasons'  difference,  as  the  icy  fang 
And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind. 
Which,  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile,  and  say 
This  is  no  flattery;  these  are  counsellors 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am. 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous. 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head. 
And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt. 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks. 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 

Aini.  I  would  not  change  it;  happy  is  your  grace. 
That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style. 

Duke  S.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  venison  ? 
And  yet  it  irks  me,  the  poor  dappled  fools. 
Being  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city. 


94  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Should  in  their  own  confines,  with  forked  heads 
Have  their  round  haunches  gor'd. 

I  Lord.  Indeed,  my  lord, 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that ; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banish'd  you. 
To-day  my  lord  of  Amiens  and  myself 
Did  steal  behind  him  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood, 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequester'd  stag. 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 
Did  come  to  languish ;  and  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heav'd  forth  such  groans 
That  their  dischargee  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Cours'd  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase;  and  thus  the  hairy  fool, 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
Auomentinoe  it  with  tears. 

Duke  S.  But  what  said  Jaques  ? 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle? 

I  Lord.  Oh  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  into  the  needless  stream ; 
Poor  deer,  quoth  he,  ^/loic  mak'st  a  testametit 
As  worldlings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 
To  that  which  had  too  mtich.     Then,  being  there  alone, 
Left  and  abandoned  of  his  velvet  friend; 
'Tis  right,  quoth  he  ;  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux  of  company.    Anon  a  careless  herd. 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him. 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him.    Ay,  quoth  Jaques, 
Sweep  071,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens ; 
'Tis  just  the  fashion.     Whei^efore  do  you  look 
Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there? 
Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 
The  body  of  country,  city,  court. 
Yea,  and  of  this  our  life,  swearing  that  we 
Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse, 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  95 

To  fright  the  animals,  and  to  kill  them  up 
In  their  assign'd  and  native  dwelling-place. 

Duke  S.  And  did  you  leave  him  in  this  contempla- 
tion ? 

2  Lord.  We  did,  my  lord,  weeping  and  commenting 
Upon  the  sobbing  deer, 

Duke  S.  Show  me  the  place  ; 

I  love  to  cope  him  in  these  sullen  fits, 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter. 

I  Lord.  I'll  bring  you  to  him  straight.  \_Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Duke  luitli  Lords. 

Duke.  Can  it  be  possible  that  no  man  saw  them  } 
It  cannot  be:  some  villains  of  my  court 
Are  of  consent  and  sufferance  in  this. 

1  Lord.  I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chamber, 
Saw  her  abed  ;  and,  in  the  morning  early, 

They  found  the  bed  untreasur'd  of  their  mistress. 

2  Lord.  My  lord,  the  roynish  clown,  at  whom  so 
Your  grace  was  wont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 
Hesperia,  the  princess's  gentlewoman, 
Confesses  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 

Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 
The  parts  and  graces  of  the  wrestler 
That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles ; 
And  she  believes,  wherever  they  are  gone. 
That  youth  is  surely  in  their  company. 

Duke.  Send  to  his  brother;  fetch  that  gallant  hither ; 
If  he  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me ; 
I'll  make  him  find  him.     Do  this  suddenly; 
And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail 
To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaways.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  III. — Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Orl.  Who's  there  ? 

Adam.  What !   my  young  master  ?  —  Oh,  ray  gentle 
master. 


96  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Oh,  my  sweet  master,  Oh,  you  memory 

Of  old  Sir  Rowland  !  why,  what  make  you  here  ? 

Why  are  you  virtuous  ?  Why  do  people  love  you  ? 

And  wherefore  are  you  gentle,  strong,  and  valiant  ? 

Why  would  you  be  so  fond  to  overcome 

The  bonnie  priser  of  the  humorous  duke? 

Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 

Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 

Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 

No  more  do  yours  ;  your  virtues,  gentle  master. 

Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 

Oh,  what  a  world  is  this,  when  what  is  comely 

Envenoms  him  that  bears  it ! 

Orl.  Why,  what's  the  matter  } 

Adam.  Oh,  unhappy  youth. 

Come  not  within  these  doors ;  within  this  roof 
The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives. 
Your  brother  (no,  no  brother ;  yet  the  son — 
Yet  not  the  son  ;   I  will  not  call  him  son 
Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father) 
Hath  heard  your  praises ;  and  this  night  he  means 
To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  used  to  lie, 
And  you  within  it:  if  he  fail  of  that. 
He  will  have  other  means  to  cut  you  off. 
I  overheard  him,  and  his  practices. 
This  is  no  place,  this  house  is  but  a  butchery ; 
Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 

Orl.  Why,  whither,  Adam,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  ? 

Adam.  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orl.  What,  wouldst  thou  have  me  2:0  and  bes  mv 
food  ? 
Or,  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword,  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do. 
Yet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can; 
I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood,  and  bloody  brother. 

Adam.  But  do  not  so.     I  have  five  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store  to  be  my  foster-nurse. 


Plate  12 

MISTRESS,   DISPATCH   YOU    WITH    YOUR   SAFEST 
HASTE  " 

As  You  I -ike  It,  act  i.,  scene  iii. 


AS    VOLT  LIKE  IT  97 

When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame, 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown  ; 
Take  that ;  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow, 
Be  comfort  to  my  age.     Here  is  the  gold ; 
All  this  I  give  you.     Let  me  be  your  servant ; 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood. 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter. 
Frosty,  but  kindly.     Let  me  go  with  you ; 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

Old.  Oh,  good  old  man,  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world. 
When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed. 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times, 
Where  none  will  sweat  but  for  promotion  ; 
And  having  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 
Even  with  the  having.     It  is  not  so  with  thee ; 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree. 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 
In  lieu  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 
But  come  thy  ways,  we'll  go  along  together. 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent. 
We'll  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.  Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty. — 
From  seventeen  years  till  now  almost  fourscore 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek. 
But  at  fourscore  it  is  too  late  a  week ; 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor. 

\_Exeunt. 


98  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Scene  IV. — Enter  Rosalind  yi?^  Ganymede,  CELiAy^r 
Aliena,  and  Clown,  alias  Touchstone. 

Ros.  O  Jupiter  !  how  weary  are  my  spirits  ! 

Clown.  I  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were  not 
weary. 

Ros.  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my  man's 
apparel,  and  to  cry  like  a  woman :  but  I  must  comfort 
the  weaker  vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose  ought  to  show 
itself  courageous  to  petticoat ;  therefore,  courage,  good 
Aliena. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  bear  with  me  ;  I  cannot  go  no  fur- 
ther. 

Clown.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you 
than  bear  you ;  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross  if  I  did  bear 
you  ;  for  I  think  you  have  no  money  in  your  purse. 

Ros.  Well,  this  is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Cloivn.  Ay,  now  I  am  in  Arden.  The  more  fool  I. 
When  I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a  better  place ;  but  trav- 
ellers must  be  content. 

Enter  Corin  a7id  Silvius. 

Ros.  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone.  Look  you,  who 
comes  here ;  a  young  man  and  an  old,  in  solemn  talk. 

Cor.  That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still. 

Sil.  O  Corin,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love  her ! 

Cor.  I  partly  guess,  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 

Sil.   No,  Corin,  being  old  thou  canst  not  guess ; 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  pillow. 
But  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  to  mine, 
(As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so) 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy  ? 

Cor.  Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 

Sil.  Oh,  thou  didst  then  never  love  so  heartily. 
If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd; 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  99 

Or  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now, 
Wearing  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd ; 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company, 
Abruptly,  as  my  passion  now  makes  me. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd. 

0  Phebe,  Phebe,  Phebe  !  \_Exit. 
Ros.  Alas,  poor  shepherd  !   searching  of  thy  wound, 

1  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine  own. 

down.  And  I  mine.  I  remember,  when  I  was  in 
love,  I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid  him  take 
that  for  coming  anight  to  Jane  Smile;  and  I  remem- 
ber the  kissing  of  her  batlet,  and  the  cow's  dugs  that 
her  pretty  chopp'd  hands  had  milk'd  ;  and  I  remember 
the  wooing  of  a  peascod  instead  of  her,  from  whom  I 
took  two  cods,  and,  giving  her  them  again,  said,  with 
weeping  tears.  Wear  these  for  my  sake.  We,  that  are 
true  lovers,  run  into  strange  capers ;  but  as  all  is 
mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature  in  love  mortal  in 
folly. 

Ros.  Thou  speak 'st  wiser  than  thou  art  'ware  of. 

Clown.  Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  beware  of  mine  own  wit 
till  I  break  my  shins  against  it. 

Ros.  Jove  !  Jove  !  this  shepherd's  passion 
Is  much  upon  my  fashion. 

Clown.  And   mine ;    but    it   grows    something   stale 
with  me. 

Cel.   I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond  man, 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food ; 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Clown.   Halloo,  you,  clown  ! 

Ros.  Peace,  fool ;  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 

Cor.  Who  calls  ? 

Clown.  Your  betters,  sir. 

Cor.  Else  are  they  very  wretched. 

Ros.  Peace,  I  say ;  Good-even  to  you,  friend. 

Cor.  And  to  you,  gentle  sir,  and  to  you  all. 

Ros.  I  prithee,  shepherd,  if  that  love  or  gold 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselves,  and  feed. 


loo  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Here's  a  young  maid  with  travel  much  oppressed, 
And  faints  for  succour. 

Cor.  Fair  sir,  I  pity  her, 

And  wish  for  her  sake,  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her; 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man, 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  that  I  graze. 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition. 
And  little  recks  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality. 
Besides,  his  cote,  his  flocks,  and  bounds  of  feed 
Are  now  on  sale,  and  at  our  sheepcote  now. 
By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on ;  but  what  is,  come  see. 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Ros.  What  is  he  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  past- 
ure.'^ 

Cor.  That  young  swain  that  you  saw  here  but  ere- 
while. 
That  little  cares  for  buying  anything. 

Ros.  I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the  flock. 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

CeL  And  we  will  mend  thy  wages. 
I  like  this  place,  and  willingly  could 
Waste  my  time  in  it. 

Cor.  Assuredly,  the  thing  is  to  be  sold. 
Go  with  me:  if  you  like,  upon  report. 
The  soil,  the  profit,  and  this  kind  of  life, 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be, 
And  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly.        \_Exeunt. 


Scene  V. — Enter  Amiens,  Jaques,  a7id  others. 

SONG 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  turn  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  loi 

Come  /lit her,  come  hither,  cone  hither ; 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaq.  More,  more,  I  prithee,  more. 

Ami.  It  will  make  you  melancholy,  Monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaq.  I  thank  it.  More,  I  prithee,  more.  I  can  suck 
melancholy  out  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs. 
More,  I  prithee,  more. 

Ami.  My  voice  is  ragged.  I  know  I  cannot  please 
you. 

Jaq.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me, 
I  do  desire  you  to  sing. 
Come;  more;  another  stanza.    Call  you  them  stanzas.? 

Ami.  What  you  will,  Monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaq.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names;  they  owe  me 
nothing.     Will  you  sing.f* 

Ami.  More  at  your  request  than  to  please  myself. 

Jaq.  Well,  then,  if  ever  I  thank  any  man,  I'll  thank 
you:  but  that  they  call  compliment  is  like  the  en- 
counter of  two  dog-apes ;  and  when  a  man  thanks  me 
heartily  methinks  I  have  given  him  a  penny,  and  he 
renders  me  the  beggarly  thanks.  Come,  sing;  and 
you  that  will  not,  hold  your  tongues. 

Ami.  W^ell,  I'll  end  the  song. — Sirs,  cover  the  while  ! 
the  duke  will  drink  under  this  tree!  he  hath  been  all 
this  day  to  look  you. 

Jaq.  And  I  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him. 
He  is  too  disputable  for  my  company. 
I  think  of  as  many  matters  as  he,  but  I  give 
Heaven  thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  them. 
Come,  warble,  come. 


SONG. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun,  [All  together  here. 

And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun. 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleas' d  with  what  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  cofne  hither,  come  hither  ; 
Here  shall  he  see,  &^c. 


I02  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Jaq.   I'll  give  you  a  verse  to  this  note  that  I  made 
yesterday  in  despite  of  my  invention. 
Ami.  And  I'll  sing  it. 
Ami,  Thus  it  goes  : 

If  it  do  come  to  pass. 
That  any  man  turtt  ass. 
Leaving  his  wealth  and  ease, 
A  stubborn  will  to  please, 
Ducdatne,  ducdaine,  diicdanie  ; 
Here  shall  he  see. 
Gross  fools  as  he. 
And  if  he  will  come  to  me. 

Ami.  What's  that  ducdaiite? 

Jaq.  'Tis  a  Greek  invocation  to  call  fools  into  a  cir- 
cle. I'll  go  sleep  if  I  can ;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail  against 
all  the  first-born  of  Egypt. 

Ami.  And  I'll  go  seek  the  duke ;  his  banquet  is  pre- 
par'd.  \_Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. — Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Adam.  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further.  Oh,  I 
die  for  food !  Here  lie  I  down,  and  measure  out  my 
grave.     Farewell,  kind  master. 

(9r/.  Why,  how  now,  Adam  }  no  greater  heart  in 
thee  ?  Live  a  little  ;  comfort  a  little ;  cheer  thyself  a 
little.  If  this  uncouth  forest  yield  any  thing  savage,  I 
will  either  be  food  for  it,  or  bring  it  for  food  to  thee. 
Thy  conceit  is  nearer  death  than  thy  powers.  For  my 
sake  be  comfortable ;  hold  death  awhile  at  the  arm's 
end.  I  will  here  be  with  thee  presently ;  and  if  I  bring 
thee  not  something  to  eat,  I'll  give  thee  leave  to  die ; 
but  if  thou  diest  before  I  come,  thou  art  a  mocker  of 
my  labour.  Well  said,  thou  look'st  cheerly;  and  I'll 
be  with  thee  quickly.  Yet  thou  liest  in  the  bleak  air. 
Come,  I  will  bear  thee  to  some  shelter ;  and  thou  shalt 
not  die  for  lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there  live  any  thing  in 
this  desert.     Cheerly,  good  Adam!  \_Exeunt. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  103 

Scene  VII.  —  Enter   Duke   Sen.  and   Lord,   like    out- 
laws. 

Duke  S.  I  think  he  be  transform'd  into  a  beast, 
For  I  can  nowhere  find  him  like  a  man. 

I  Loj'-d.  My  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone   hence. 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 

Duke  S.   If  he,  compact  of  jars,  grow  musical. 
We  shall  have  shortly  discord  in  the  spheres. 
Go,  seek  him  ;  tell  him  I  would  speak  with  him. 

Enter  Jaques. 

I  Loi'd.  He  saves  my  labour  by  his  own  approach. 

Duke  S.  Why,  how  now,  monsieur  ?  What  a  life  is  this, 
That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company } 
What !  you  look  merrily. 

Jaq.  A  fool,  a  fool !     I  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest, 
A  motley  fool ;  a  miserable  world  ! 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool. 
Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun, 
And  rail'd  on  Lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 
In  good  set  terms,  and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
Good-morrow,  fool,  quoth  I.     No,  sir,  quoth  he, 
Call  me  not  fool  till  heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune. 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke. 
And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye. 
Says,  very  wisely,  it  is  ten  o'clock. 
Thus  may  we  see,  quoth  he,  how  the  world  wags. 
'Tis  but  an  hour  ago,  since  it  was  nine, 
And  after  one  hour  more  'twill  be  eleven ; 
And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe  and  ripe, 
And  then  from  hour  to  hour,  we  rot  and  rot. 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.     When  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time. 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer. 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative ; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission. 
An  hour  by  his  dial.     Oh,  noble  fool ! 
A  worthy  fool !     Motley's  the  only  wear. 


I04  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Duke  S.  What  fool  is  this  ? 

Jaq.  Oh,  worthy  fool !    One  that  hath  been  a  courtier  ; 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair, 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it;  and  in  his  brain. 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
After  a  voyage,  he  hath  strange  places  cramm'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms.     Oh,  that  I  were  a  fool ! 
I  am  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat. 

Duke  S.  Thou  shalt  have  one. 

Jaq.  It  is  my  only  suit; 

Provided  that  you  weed  your  better  judgments 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  them, 
That  I  am  wise.     I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind. 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please ;  for  so  fools  have. 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly, 
They  most  must  laugh.     And  why,  sir,  must  they  so  ? 
The  why  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church. 
He  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit, 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart, 
Seem  senseless  of  the  bob ;  if  not. 
The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomiz'd 
Even  by  the  squand'ring  glances  of  the  fool. 
Invest  me  in  my  motley ;  give  me  leave 
To  speak  my  mind,  and  I  will  through  and  through 
Cleanse  the  foul  body  of  the  infected  world, 
If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  medicine. 

Duke  S.  Fie  on  thee !   I  can  tell  what  thou  wouldst 
do. 

Jaq.  What,  for  a  counter,  would  I  do,  but  good  ? 

Duke  S.   Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin ; 
For  thou  thyself  hast  been  a  libertine, 
As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  itself ; 
And  all  the  embossed  sores,  and  headed  evils. 
That  thou  with  license  of  free  foot  hast  caught, 
Wouldst  thou  diso^orsre  into  the  general  world. 

Jaq.  Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride. 
That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party } 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  hugely  as  the  sea. 


Plate  13 
ORLANDO   AND   ADAM 
As  You  Like  It,  act  ii.,  scene  iv. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  105 

Till  that  the  weary  very  means  do  ebb? 

What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name 

When  that  I  say,  The  city  woman  bears 

The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders  ? 

Who  can  come  in  and  say  that  I  mean  her, 

When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbour? 

Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function 

That  says  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cost 

(Thinking  that  I  mean  him),  but  therein  suits 

His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech  ? 

There    then ;    how    then,  what    then  ?      Let    me    see 

wherein 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him  :  if  it  do  him  right, 
Then  he  hath  wrong'd  himself ;  if  he  be  free, 
Why  then  my  taxing,  like  a  wild-goose,  flies 
Unclaim'd  of  any  man. — But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Orlando. 

Orl.  Forbear,  and  eat  no  more. 

Jaq.  Why,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

Orl.  Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  serv'd. 

Jaq.  Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of  ? 

Diike  S.  Art    thou   thus  bolden'd,  man,   by   thy   dis- 
tress ? 
Or  else  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners, 
That  in  civility  thou  seem'st  so  empty? 

Orl.  You  touch'd  my  vein  at  first ;  the  thorny  point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility;  yet  I  am  inland-bred, 
And  know  some  nurture.     But  forbear,  I  say; 
He  dies,  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit. 
Till  I  and  my  affairs  are  answered. 

Jaq.  And   you   will   not  be  answered  with  reason,  I 
must  die. 

Dtikc  S.  What   would   you  have  ? 
Your  gentleness  shall  force,  more  than  your  force 
Move  us  to  gentleness. 

OrL   I  almost  die  for  food,  and  let  me  have  it. 

Duke  S.  Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our  table. 


io6  COMEDIES   OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Orl.   Speak    you    so    gently  ?       Pardon    me,   I    pray 
you. 
I  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here  ; 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment.     But,  whate'er  you  are, 
That  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 
Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs. 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time ; 
If  ever  you  have  look'd  on  better  days, 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knoll'd  to  church ; 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast ; 
If  ever  from  your  eyelids  wip'd  a  tear, 
And  know  what  'tis  to  pity  and  be  pitied, 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be : 
In  the  which  hope  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 

Duke  S.  True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days. 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knoll'd  to  church ; 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts;  and  wip'd  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  engender'd. 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness, 
And  take  upon  command  what  help  we  have, 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  ministered. 

Orl.  Then  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while, 
Whiles,  like  a  doe,  I  go  to  find  my  fawn 
And  give  it  food.     There  is  an  old  poor  man, 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limp'd  in  pure  love ;  till  he  be  first  sufific'd — 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger — 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke  S.  Go  find  him  out. 

And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  you  return. 

Orl.  I  thank  ye;  and  be  bless'd  for  your  good  com- 
fort! 

Duke  S.  Thou  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy. 
This  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaq.  All  the  w^orld's  a  stage, 

And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players ; 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  107 

And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 

His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first,  the  infant, 

Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms; 

Then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel 

And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 

Unwillingly  to  school:  and  then  the  lover, 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 

Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow.     Then,  a  soldier, 

Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard. 

Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.      And  then,  the  justice, 

In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lin'd, 

With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 

Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances. 

And  so  he  plays  his  part.      The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon; 

With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side, 

His  youthful  hose  w-ell  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 

For  his  shrunk  shank ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 

Turning  again  towards  childish  treble,  pipes 

And  whistles  in  his  sound.      Last  scene  of  all, 

That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history, 

Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion; 

Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything. 

Enter  Orlando  with  Adam. 

Duke  S.  Welcome.     Set  down  your  venerable  bur- 
den, and  let  him  feed. 

Orl.  I  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adam.  So  had  you  need  ; 
I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  you  for  myself. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  fall  to.     I  will  not  trouble  you 
As  yet  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes. 
Give  us  some  music ;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 

SONG. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wmds. 
Thou  art  not  so  tinkiml 


io8  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

As  mans  hii^i-atitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  a?-t  not  seen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh-ho  !    sing,  heigh-ho  !    imto  the  green  holly  ; 
Most  friendsliip  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly. 
Then,  heigh-ho,  the  holly  I 
This  life  is  most  jolly  ! 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky. 
That  dost  ftot  bite  so  Jiigh 

As  betiefits  forgot. 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remember' d  not. 
Heigh-ho  !    sing,  heigh-ho !    &^c. 

Duke  S.  If  that  you  were  the  good  Sir  Rowland's 
son, 
As  you  have  whisper'd  faithfully  you  were, 
And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 
Most  truly  limn'd  and  living  in  your  face. 
Be  truly  welcome  hither.      I  am  the  duke 
That  lov'd  your  father.     The  residue  of  your  fortune, 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me. — Good  old  man. 
Thou  art  right  welcome,  as  thy  master  is. 
Support  him  by  the  arm. — Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand.  \_Exe21nt. 


ACT  III 

Scene  I. — Enter  Duke,  Lords,  and  Oliver. 

Duke.  Not  see  him  since  ?     Sir,  sir,  that  cannot  be. 
But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present.     But  look  to  it ; 
Find  out  thy  brother,  wheresoe'er  he  is  ; 
Seek  him  with  candle ;  bring  him  dead  or  living 
Within  this  twelvemonth,  or  turn  thou  no  more 
To  seek  a  living  in  our  territory. 
Thy  lands,  and  all  things  that  thou  dost  call  thine. 
Worth  seizure,  do  we  seize  into  our  hands, 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT 


109 


Till  thou  canst  quit  thee  by  thy  brother's  mouth 
Of  what  we  think  against  thee. 

on.  Oh,  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this ! 
I  never  lov'd  my  brother  in  my  life. 

Duke.  More  villain    thou. — Well,  push   him    out    of 
doors ; 
And  let  my  ofiBcers  of  such  a  nature 
Make  an  extent  upon  his  house  and  lands. 
Do  this  expediently,  and  turn  him  going.  \Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Orlando. 

Orl.   Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love ; 

And  thou,  thrice-crowned  queen  of  night,  survey 
With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above, 

Thy  huntress  name,  that  my  full  life  doth  sway. 
O  Rosalind !  these  trees  shall  be  my  books. 

And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I'll  character. 
That  every  eye,  which  in  this  forest  looks. 
Shall  see  thy  virtue  witnessed  everywhere. 
Run,  run,  Orlando  ;  carve  on  every  tree 
The  fair,  the  chaste,  and  unexpressive  she.  \_Exit. 

Enter  Corin  and  Clown. 

Cor.  And  how  like  you  this  shepherd's  life,  master 
Touchstone  ? 

Clown.  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is  a 
good  life ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's  life,  it  is 
naught.  In  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I  like  it  very 
well ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile 
life.  Now,  in  respect  it  is  in  the  fields,  it  pleaseth  me 
well j  but  in  respect  it  is  not  in  the  court,  it  is  tedious. 
As  it  is  a  spare  life,  look  you,  it  fits  my  humour  well ; 
but  as  there  is  no  more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much 
against  my  stomach.  Hast  any  philosophy  in  thee, 
shepherd } 

Cor.  No  more  but  that  I  know  the  more  one  sickens 
the  worse  at  ease  he  is ;  and  that  he  that  wants  money, 
means,  and    content,  is    without    three    good   friends- 


no  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

that  the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet,  and  fire  to  burn  ; 
that  good  pasture  makes  fat  sheep  ;  and  that  a  great 
cause  of  the  night  is  lack  of  the  sun ;  that  he  that  hath 
learned  no  wit  by  nature  nor  art  may  complain  of  good 
breeding,  or  comes  of  a  very  dull  kindred. 

Clow7t.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher. 
Wast  ever  in  court,  shepherd  ? 

Cor.  No,  truly. 

Cloivn.  Then  thou  art  damn'd. 

Cor.  Nay,  I  hope. 

Clown.  Truly,  thou  art  damn'd ;  like  an  ill-roasted 
t.gg,  all  on  one  side. 

Cor.  For  not  being  at  court  ?     Your  reason. 

Clown.  Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou  never 
saw'st  good  manners ;  if  thou  never  saw'st  good  man- 
ners, then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked;  and  wicked- 
ness is  sin,  and  sin  is  damnation.  Thou  art  in  a  parlous 
state,  shepherd. 

Cor.  Not  a  whit,  Touchstone ;  those  that  are  good 
manners  at  the  court  are  as  ridiculous  in  the  country 
as  the  behavior  of  the  country  is  most  mockable  at  the 
court.  You  told  me  you  salute  not  at  the  court,  but 
you  kiss  your  hands ;  that  courtesy  would  be  uncleanly 
if  courtiers  were  shepherds. 

Clown.  Instance,  briefly;  come,  instance. 

Cor.  Why,  we  are  still  handling  our  ewes;  and  their 
fells,  you  know,  are  greasy. 

Clown.  Why,  do  not  your  courtiers'  hands  sweat } 
and  is  not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  wholesome  as  the 
sweat  of  a  man  }  Shallow,  shallow :  A  better  instance 
I  say ;  come. 

Cor.  Besides,  our  hands  are  hard. 

Clown.  Your  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner.  Shal- 
low again  :  a  more  sounder  instance,  come. 

Cor.  And  they  are  often  tarr'd  over  with  the  surgery 
of  our  sheep.  And  would  you  have  us  kiss  tar }  The 
courtiers'  hands  are  perfumed  with  civet. 

Clow7i.  Most  shallow  man  !  Thou  worms-meat,  in 
respect  of  a  good  piece  of  flesh ;  indeed !  Learn  of 
the  wise,  and  perpend:     Civet  is  of  a  baser  birth  than 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  m 

tar;  the  very  uncleanly  flux  of  a  cat.  Mend  the  in- 
stance, shepherd. 

Cor.  You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me ;  I'll  rest. 

Clozvn.  Wilt  thou  rest  damn'd.'^  God  help  thee, 
shallow  man !  God  make  incision  in  thee !  thou  art 
raw. 

Cor.  Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer;  I  earn  that  I  eat,  get 
that  I  wear;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no  man's  happi- 
ness ;  glad  of  other  men's  good,  content  with  my  harm : 
and  the  greatest  of  my  pride  is  to  see  my  ewes  graze 
and  my  lambs  suck. 

Clown.  That  is  another  simple  sin  in  you — to  bring 
the  ewes  and  the  rams  together,  and  to  offer  to  get  your 
living  by  the  copulation  of  cattle ;  to  be  bawd  to  a  bell- 
wether; and  to  betray  a  she-lamb  of  a  twelvemonth  to 
a  crooked-pated  old  cuckoldy  ram,  out  of  all  reason- 
able match.  If  thou  be'st  not  damn'd  for  this,  the  devil 
himself  will  have  no  shepherds ;  I  cannot  see  else  how 
thou  should'st  'scape. 

Cor.  Here  comes  young  master  Ganymede,  my  new 
mistress's  brother. 

Enter  Rosalind. 

J^QS.  From  the  east  to  western  Ind, 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind, 
Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind. 
Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 
All  the  pictures,  fairest  lin'd, 
Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 
Let  no  face  he  kept  in  mittd, 
But  the  fair  of  Rosalind. 

Clown.  I'll  rhyme  you  so  eight  years  together;  din- 
ners and  suppers  and  sleeping  hours  excepted ;  it  is 
the  right  butterwomen's  rank  to  market. 

Ros.  Out,  fool! 

Clown.  For  a  taste : 

If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind. 
Let  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 
If  the  cat  ivill  after  kind. 
So,  be  sure,  will  Rosalind. 


112  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Winter  garments  must  be  lin'd, 

So  must  slender  Rosalind. 

They  that  reap,  must  sheaf  and  bind ; 

Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 

Sweetest  met  hath  sourest  rind, 

Such  a  fittt  is  Rosalind. 

He  that  sweetest  rose  will  fitid. 

Must  find  loves  prick,  and  Rosalind. 

This  is  the  very  false  gallop  of  verses.  Why  do  you 
infect  yourself  with  them  ? 

Ros.  Peace,  you  dull  fool ;   I  found  them  on  a  tree. 

Clown.  Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  fruit. 

Ros.  I'll  graft  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  graft  it 
with  a  meddler ;  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit  in  the 
country:  for  you'll  be  rotten  e'er  you  be  half  ripe,  and 
that's  the  right  virtue  of  the  meddler. 

Clow7i.  You  have  said ;  but  whether  wisely  or  no,  let 
the  forest  judge. 

Entcy  Celia  with  a  writing. 

Ros.  Peace ! 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading;  stand  aside. 

^^l  Why  should  this  desert  be? 

For  it  is  unpeopled?  No ; 
Tongues  I'll  hang  on  every  tree. 

That  shall  civil  sayings  shoiv. 
Some,  how  brief  the  life  of  7nan 

Runs  his  erring  pilgrimage  ; 
That  the  stretching  of  a  span 

Buckles  in  his  sum  of  age. 
Some,  of  violated  vows 

'  Twixt  the  souls  of  friend  attd  friend ; 
But  upon  the  fairest  bottghs. 

Or  at  every  sentence  end. 
Will  I  Rosalinda  write  ; 

Teaching  all  that  read,  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Heaveft  would  in  little  shoio. 
Therefore  heaven  nature  ckarg'd 

That  ofte  body  should  be  fill'd 
With  all  graces  wide  enlarg'd  : 

Nature  presently  distill' d 


Plate  14 
IN   THE   FOREST 

As  You  Like  It,  act  ii.,  scene  iv. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  113 

Helen's  cheek,  but  not  her  heart ; 

Cleopatra's  majesty  ; 
Atalanta's  better  part ; 

Sad  Lucretia's  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  nia7iy  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  was  devis'd ; 
Of  tnany  faces,  eyes,  and  hearts. 

To  have  the  touches  dearest  priz'd. 
Heaven  would  that  she  these  gifts  should  have. 

And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 

Ros.  O  most  gentle  Jupiter! — what  tedious  homil)' 
of  love  have  you  wearied  your  parishioners  withal,  and 
never  cried,  Have  patience,  good  people  ! 

Cel.  How  now!  back  friends;  shepherd,  go  off  a  little: 
go  with  him,  sirrah. 

Clown.  Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honourable 
retreat;  though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  yet  with 
scrip  and  scrippage.  \_ExiL 

Cel.  Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 

Ros.  Oh  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too;  for 
some  of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the  verses 
would  bear. 

Cel.  That's  no  matter ;  the  feet  might  bear  the  verses. 

Ros.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  could  not  bear 
themselves  without  the  verse,  and  therefore  stood  lame- 
ly in  the  verse. 

Cel.  But  didst  thou  hear,  without  wondering,  how 
thy  name  should  be  hang'd  and  carv'd  upon  these  trees } 

Ros.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the  won- 
der before  you  came ;  for  look  here  what  I  found  on  a 
palm-tree ;  I  never  was  so  be-rhymed  since  Pythagoras 's 
time  that  I  was  an  Irish  rat,  which  I  can  hardly  re- 
member. 

Cel.  Trow  you  who  hath  done  this  "^ 

Ros.  Is  it  a  man  }  \ 

Cel.  And  a  chain  that  you  once  wore  about  his 
neck;  change  you  color.'* 

Ros.  I  pr'ythee,  who  ? 

Cel.  O  Lord,  Lord !  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to 
meet ;  but  mountains  may  be  removed  with  earthquakes, 
and  so  encounter. 


114  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ros.  Nay,  but  who  is  it  ? 

Cel.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Ros.  Nay,  I  prithee  now,  with  most  petitionary  ve- 
hemence, tell  me  who  it  is. 

Cel.  Oh,  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful 
wonderful,  and  yet  again  wonderful,  and  after  that  out 
of  all  hooping ! 

Ros.  Good  my  complexion !  dost  thou  think,  though 
I  am  caparisoned  like  a  man,  I  have  a  doublet  and  hose 
in  my  disposition  ?  One  inch  of  delay  more  is  a  South 
Sea  of  discovery.  I  prithee,  tell  me  who  is  it }  quickly, 
and  speak  apace;  I  would  thou  could  st  stammer,  that 
thou  might'st  pour  this  conceal'd  man  out  of  thy  mouth, 
as  wine  comes  out  of  a  narrow-mouth'd  bottle  :  either 
too  much  at  once,  or  none  at  all.  I  prithee  take  the 
cork  out  of  thy  mouth,  that  I  may  drink  thy  tidings. 

Cel.  So  you  may  put  a  man  in  your  belly. 

Ros.  Is  he  of  God's  making  ?  What  manner  of  man  ? 
Is  his  head  worth  a  hat,  or  his  chin  worth  a  beard  ? 

Cel.  Nay,  he  hath  but  a  little  beard. 

Ros.  Why,  God  will  send  more,  if  the  man  will  be 
thankful;  let  me  stay  the  growth  of  his  beard,  if  thou 
delay  me  not  the  knowledge  of  his  chin. 

Cel.  It  is  young  Orlando;  that  tripp'd  up  the  wrest- 
ler's heels  and  your  heart,  both  in  an  instant. 

Ros.  Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking;  speak  sad 
brow,  and  true  maid. 

Cel.  I'faith,  coz,  'tis  he. 

Ros.  Orlando? 

Cel.  Orlando. 

Ros.  Alas  the  day !  what  shall  I  do  with  my  doublet 
and  hose  ?  What  did  he,  when  thou  saw'st  him  ?  What 
said  he  ?  How  looked  he  t  Wherein  went  he  ?  What 
makes  he  here  t  Did  he  ask  for  me }  Where  remains 
he  '^.  How  parted  he  with  thee }  And  when  shalt  thou 
see  him  again }     Answer  me  in  one  word. 

Cel.  You  must  borrow  me  Gargantua's  mouth  first ; 
'tis  a  word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of  this  age's  size  : 
to  say  ay  and  no  to  these  particulars  is  more  than  to 
answer  in  a  catechism. 


AS    VOU  LIKE  IT  115 

Ros.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  forest,  and 
in  man's  apparel  ?  Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he  did  the 
day  he  wrestled  ? 

Cel.  It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies  as  to  resolve  the 
propositions  of  a  lover ;  but  take  a  taste  of  my  finding 
him,  and  relish  it  with  good  observance.  I  found  him 
under  a  tree  like  a  dropp'd  acorn. 

Ros.  It  may  well  be  call'd  love's  tree,  when  it  drops 
forth  fruit. 

Cel.  Give  me  audience,  good  madam. 

Ros.  Proceed. 

Cel.  There  lay  he  stretch'd  along  like  a  wounded 
knight. 

Ros.  Though  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a  sight,  it  well 
becomes  the  ground. 

Cel  Cry  halloo !  to  thy  tongue,  I  prithee ;  it  curvets 
unseasonably.     He  was  furnish'd  like  a  hunter. 

Ros.  Oh,  ominous !  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 

Cel.  I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden  :  thou 
bring'st  me  out  of  tune. 

Ros.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman }  When  I 
think,  I  must  speak.     Sweet,  say  on. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Jaques. 

Cel.  You  bring  me  out.     Soft !  comes  he  not  here } 

Ros.  'Tis  he  ;  slink  by,  and  note  him. 

Jaq.  I  thank  you  for  your  company  ;  but,  good  faith, 
I  had  as  lief  have  been  myself  alone. 

Orl.  And  so  had  I ;  but  yet,  for  fashion's  sake,  I 
thank  you  too  for  your  society. 

Jaq.  God  be  with  you;  let's  meet  as  litde  as  we  can. 

Orl.  I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaq.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing  love- 
songs  in  their  barks. 

Orl.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with 
reading  them  ill-favouredly. 

Jaq.  Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  t 

Orl.  Yes,  just. 

Jaq.  I  do  not  like  her  name. 


ii6  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Orl.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you  when 
she  was  christen'd. 

Jaq.  What  stature  is  she  of  ? 

Orl.  Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaq.  You  are  full  of  pretty  answers.  Have  you  not 
been  acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and  conn'd 
them  out  of  rings  ? 

Orl.  Not  so ;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted  cloth, 
from  whence  you  have  studied  your  questions. 

Jaq.  You  have  a  nimble  wit;  I  think  'twas  made  of 
Atalanta's  heels.  Will  you  sit  down  with  me  t  And  we 
two  will  rail  against  our  mistress  the  world  and  all  our 
misery. 

Orl.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world  but  my- 
self, against  whom  I  know  most  faults. 

Jaq.  The  worst  fault  you  have  is  to  be  in  love. 

Orl.  'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best 
virtue.     I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jaq.  By  my  troth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool  when  I 
found  you. 

Orl.  He  is  drown'd  in  the  brook ;  look  but  in  and 
you  shall  see  him. 

Jaq.  There  I  shall  see  mine  own  figure. 

Orl.  Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool  or  a  cipher. 

Jaq.  I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you  ;  farewell,  good 
Signior  Love. 

Orl.  I  am  glad  of  your  departure ;  adieu,  good  Mon- 
sieur Melancholy. 

Ros.  I  will  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy  lackey,  and 
under  that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him. — Do  you 
hear,  forester? 

Orl.  Very  well ;  what  would  you  ? 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock  ? 

Orl.  You  should  ask  me  what  time  o'  day ;  there's  no 
clock  in  the  forest. 

Ros.  Then  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest ;  else 
sighing  every  minute  and  groaning  every  hour  would 
detect  the  lazy  foot  of  time  as  well  as  a  clock. 

Orl.  And  why  not  the  swift  foot  of  time  'I  Had  not 
that  been  as  proper  .f* 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT 


117 


Ros.  By  no  means,  sir;  Time  travels  in  divers  paces 
with  divers  persons:  I'll  tell  you  who  Time  ambles 
withal,  who  Time  trots  withal,  who  Time  gallops  withal, 
and  who  he  stands  still  withal. 

Orl.  I  prithee,  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 
Ros.  Marry,  he   trots  hard  with  a  young  maid   be- 
tween the  contract  of  her  marriage  and  the  day  it  is 
solemnized ;   if  the  interim  be  but  a  sennight,  Time's 
pace  is  so  hard  that  it  seems  the  length  of  seven  years. 
Orl.  Who  ambles  Time  withal  ? 

Ros.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin  and  a  rich  man 
that  hath  not  the  gout;  for  the  one  sleeps  easily  because 
he  cannot  study,  and  the  other  lives   merrily  because 
he  feels  no  pain;   the  one  lacking  the  burden  of  lean 
and  wasteful  learning;   the  other  knowing  no  burden 
of  heavy,  tedious  penury:  these  Time  ambles  withal. 
Orl.  Who  doth  he  gallop  withal. 
Ros.  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows ;  for  though  he  go  as 
softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too  soon  there. 
Orl.  Who  stays  it  still  withal .? 

Ros.  With  lawyers  in  the  vacation  ;  for  they  sleep  be- 
tween term  and  term,  and  they  perceive  not  how  time 
moves. 

Orl.  Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  } 
Ros.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister ;   here  in  the 
skirts  of  the  forest,  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat. 
Orl  Are  you  native  of  this  place  t 
^  Ros.  As  the  coney  that  you  see  dwell  where  she  is 
kindled. 

Orl.  Your  accent  is  something  finer  than  you  could 
purchase  in  so  removed  a  dwelling. 

Ros.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many ;  but,  indeed,  an  old 
religious  uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak,  who  was  in 
his  youth  an  inland  man  ;  one  that  knew  courtship  too 
well,  for  there  he  fell  in  love.  I  have  heard  him  read 
many  lectures  against  it ;  and  I  thank  God  I  am  not  a 
woman  to  be  touch'd  with  so  many  giddy  offences  as 
he  hath  generally  tax'd  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal  evils 
that  he  laid  to  the  charge  of  women } 


ii8  'COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ros.  There  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all  like 
one  another,  as  half-pence  are  ;  every  one  fault  seeming 
monstrous  till  his  fellow-fault  came  to  match  it. 

OrL  I  prithee  recount  some  of  them. 

Ros.  No  ;  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic  but  on  those 
that  are  sick.  There  is  a  man  haunts  the  forest  that 
abuses  our  young  plants  with  carving  Rosalind  on  their 
barks,  hangs  odes  upon  hawthorns,  and  elegies  on  bram- 
bles ;  all,  forsooth,  deifying  the  name  of  Rosalind.  If  I 
could  meet  that  fancy-monger  I  would  give  him  some 
good  counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of  love 
upon  him. 

Orl.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shak'd.  I  pray  you  tell 
me  your  remedy. 

Ros.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you. 
He  tauQ^ht  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love,  in  which 
cage  of  rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  prisoner. 

Orl.  What  were  his  marks  ? 

Ros.  A  lean  cheek,  which  you  have  not ;  a  blue  eye 
and  sunken,  which  you  have  not ;  an  unquestionable 
spirit,  which  you  have  not ;  a  beard  neglected,  which 
you  have  not — but  I  pardon  you  for  that,  for,  simply, 
your  having  in  beard  is  a  younger  brother's  revenue. 
Then  your  hose  should  be  ungarter'd,  your  bonnet  un- 
handed, your  sleeve  unbutton'd,  your  shoe  untied,  and 
everything  about  you  demonstrating  a  careless  desola- 
tion. But  you  are  no  such  man.  You  are  rather  point- 
device  in  your  accoutrements — as  loving  yourself  than 
seeming  the  lover  of  any  other. 

Oj'I.  Fair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee  believe 
I  love. 

Ros.  Me  believe  it?  You  may  as  soon  make  her 
that  you  love  believe  it ;  which,  I  warrant,  she  is 
apter  to  do  than  to  confess  she  does.  That  is  one 
of  the  points  in  the  which  women  still  give  the  lie  to 
their  consciences.  But,  in  good  sooth,  are  you  he 
that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein  Rosalind 
is  so  admired.'* 

Orl.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of 
Rosalind,  I  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  119 

Ros.  But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes 
speak  ? 

Orl.  Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how 
much. 

Ros.  Love  is  merely  a  madness,  and,  I  tell  you,  de- 
serves as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip  as  madmen  do. 
And  the  reason  why  they  are  not  so  punished  and  cured 
is  that  the  lunacy  is  so  ordinary  that  the  whippers  are 
in  love  too.     Yet  I  profess  curing  it  by  counsel. 

Orl.  Did  you  ever  cure  any  so } 

Ros.  Yes,  one ;  and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to  imag- 
ine me  his  love,  his  mistress.  And  I  set  him  every 
day  to  woo  me,  at  which  time  would  I,  being  but  a 
moonish  youth,  grieve,  be  effeminate,  changeable,  long- 
ing, and  liking,  proud,  fantastical,  apish,  shallow,  incon- 
stant, full  of  tears,  full  of  smiles  ;  for  every  passion  some- 
thing and  for  no  passion  truly  anything,  as  boys  and 
women  are  for  the  most  part  cattle  of  this  colour; 
would  now  like  him, now  loathe  him;  then  entertain  him, 
then  forswear  him ;  now  weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him ; 
that  I  drove  my  suitor  from  his  mad  humour  of  love 
to  a  living  humour  of  madness,  which  was  to  forswear 
the  full  stream  of  the  world  and  to  live  in  a  nook  mere- 
ly monastic.  And  thus  I  cured  him.  And  this  way 
will  I  take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver  as  clean  as  a 
sound  sheep's  heart,  that  there  shall  not  be  one  spot  of 
love  in't. 

Orl.   I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 
_  Ros.   I  would  cure  you  if  you  would  but  call  me  Rosa- 
lind, and  come  every  day  to  my  cote  and  woo  me. 

Orl.  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will.  Tell  me 
where  it  is. 

Ros.  Go  with  me  to  it  and  I'll  show  it  you ;  and,  by- 
the-way,  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest  you  live. 
Will  you  go .? 

Orl.  With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Ros.  Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosahnd.  Come,  sister, 
will  you  go  .?  lExeunL 


120  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Scene  III. — Enter  Clown,  Audrey,  and  Jaques. 

Clown.  Come  apace,  good  Audrey.  I  will  fetch  up 
your  goats,  Audrey.  And  how,  Audrey,  am  I  the 
man  yet  ?     Doth  my  simple  feature  content  you  } 

And.  Your  features.  Lord  warrant  us!  What  feat- 
ures ! 

Clown.  I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as  the 
most  capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among  the 
Goths. 

Jaq.  Oh,  knowledge  ill-inhabited !  worse  than  Jove 
in  a  thatch'd  house ! 

Clown.  When  a  man's  verses  cannot  be  understood, 
nor  a  man's  good  wit  seconded  with  the  forward  child 
understanding,  it  strikes  a  man  more  dead  than  a  great 
reckoning  in  a  little  room.  Truly,  I  would  the  gods 
had  made  thee  poetical. 

Aud.  I  do  not  know  what  poetical  is.  Is  it  honest 
in  deed  and  word  ?     Is  it  a  true  thing  1 

Clown.  No,  truly,  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most 
feigning ;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry ;  and  what 
they  swear  in  poetry,  may  be  said,  as  lovers,  they  do 
feign. 

Aud.  Do  you  wish,  then,  that  the  gods  had  made  me 
poetical } 

Clown.  I  do,  truly  ;  for  thou  swear'st  to  me  thou  art 
honest.  Now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet  I  might  have  some 
hope  thou  didst  feign. 

Atid.  Would  you  not  have  me  honest } 

Clown.  No,  truly,  unless  thou  wert  hard-favour'd  ;  for 
honesty  coupled  to  beauty  is  to  have  honey  a  sauce  to 
sugar. 

Jaq.  A  material  fool ! 

Aud.  Well,  I  am  not  fair ;  and  therefore  I  pray  the 
gods  make  me  honest ! 

Clozvn.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a  foul 
slut  were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Aud.  I  am  not  a  slut,  though  I  thank  the  gods  I 
am  foul. 

Clown.  Well,  praised  be  the  gods  for  thy  foulness ! 


Plate  15 

JAQUES 

As.  You  Like  It,  act  ii.,  scene  v. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  121 

sluttishness  may  come  hereafter.  But  be  ft  as  it  may  be, 
I  will  marry  thee  ;  and  to  that  end  I  have  been  with 
Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  the  vicar  of  the  next  village,  who 
hath  promis'd  to  meet  me  in  this  place  of  the  forest, 
and  to  couple  us. 

Jaq.  I  would  fain  see  this  meeting. 

Aud.  Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy! 

Clown.  Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a  fearful 
heart,  stagger  in  this  attempt;  for  here  we  have  no 
temple  but  the  wood,  no  assembly  but  horn-beasts. 
But  what  though  ?  Courage  !  As  horns  are  odious, 
they  are  necessary.  It  is  said,  many  a  man  knows 
no  end  of  his  goods  ;  right.  Many  a  man  has  good 
horns,  and  knows  no  end  of  them.  Well,  that  is  the 
dowry  of  his  wife,  'tis  none  of  his  own  getting.  Horns, 
even  so ;  poor  men  alone  ?  No,  no ;  the  noblest  deer 
hath  them  as  huQ^e  as  the  rascal.  Is  the  sino-le  man 
therefore  blessed,?  No.  As  a  wall'd  town  is  more 
worthier  than  a  village,  so  is  the  forehead  of  a  mar- 
ried man  more  honorable  than  the  bare  brow  of  a 
bachelor;  and  by  how  much  defence  is  better  than 
no  skill,  by  so  much  is  a  horn  more  precious  than  to 
want. 


Enter  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text. 

Here  comes  Sir  Oliver. — Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  you  are 
well  met.  Will  you  despatch  us  here  under  this  tree, 
or-  shall  we  go  with  you  to  your  chapel  ? 

Oli.   Is  there  none  here  to  give  the  woman } 

Clown.  I  will  not  take  her  on  gift  of  any  man. 

Oli.  Truly,  she  must  be  given,  or  the  marriage  is  not 
lawful. 

Jaq.  Proceed,  proceed  ;   I'll  give  her. 

Clown.  Good-even,  good  master  ^/^^/jj/^  <:«//'/.  How 
do  you,  sir,?  You  are  very  well  met.  Goddild  you  for 
your  last  company,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  even  a 
toy  in  hand  here,  sir.     Nay,  pray  be  cover'd. 

Jaq.  Will  you  be  married,  Motley } 

Clown.  As  the  ox  hath  his  bow,  sir,  the  horse  his 


122  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

curb,  and  the  falcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his  de- 
sires; and  as  pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be  nib- 
bling. 

Jaq.  And  will  you,  being  a  man  of  your  breeding,  be 
married  under  a  bush  like  a  beggar?  Get  you  to 
church,  and  have  a  good  priest  that  can  tell  you  what 
marriage  is;  this  fellow  will  but  join  you  together  as 
they  join  wainscot;  then  one  of  you  will  prove  a 
shrunk  panel,  and,  like  green  timber,  warp,  warp. 

Clozun.  I  am  not  in  the  mind,  but  I  were  better  to  be 
married  of  him  than  of  another,  for  he  is  not  like  to 
marry  me  well ;  and  not  being  well  married,  it  will  be  a 
good  excuse  for  me  hereafter  to  leave  my  wife. 

Jaq.  Go  thou  with  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 

Clown.  Come,  sweet  Audrey, 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. — 
Farewell,  good  master  Oliver,     Not,  oh,  sweet  Oliver, 
oh,   brave    Oliver,  leave    me    not    behind    thee.      But 
wind  away,  begone,  I  say,  I  will  not  to  wedding  with 
thee. 

OH.  'Tis  no  matter;  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave  of 
them  all  shall  flout  me  out  of  my  calling.  \_Excunt. 

Scene  IV. — Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Ros.  Never  talk  to  me,  I  will  weep. 

Cel.  Do,  I  prithee  ;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to  con- 
sider that  tears  do  not  become  a  man. 

Ros.  But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep  } 

Cel.  As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire ;  therefore 
weep. 

Ros.   His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  colour. 

Cel.  Something  browner  than  Judas's ;  marry,  his 
kisses  are  Judas's  own  children. 

Ros.  I'faith,  his  hair  is  of  a  good  colour. 

Cel.  An  excellent  colour.  Your  chestnut  was  ever 
the  only  colour. 

Ros.  And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the 
touch  of  holy  bread. 

Cel.  He  hath  bought  a  pair  of  cast  lips  of  Diana ;  a 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  123 

nun  of  winter's  sisterhood  kisses  not  more  religiously ; 
the  very  ice  of  chastity  is  in  them. 

Ros.  But  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this 
morning,  and  comes  not? 

Cel.  Nay,  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Ros.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Cel.  Yes,  I  think  he  is  not  a  pick-purse,  nor  a  horse- 
stealer; but  for  his  verity  in  love  I  do  think  him  as 
concave  as  a  cover'd  goblet,  or  a  worm-eaten  nut. 

Ros.  Not  true  in  love  } 

Cel.  Yes,  when  he  is  in  ;  but  I  think  he  is  not  in. 

Ros.  You  have  heard  him  swear  downright  he  was. 

Cel.  Was  is  not  is ;  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover  is  no 
stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster ;  they  are  both  the 
confirmers  of  false  reckonings.  He  attends  here  in  the 
forest  on  the  duke  your  father. 

^  Ros.  I  met  the  duke  yesterday,  and  had  much  ques- 
tion with  him  ;  he  asked  me  of  what  parentage  I  was ; 
I  told  him  of  as  good  as  he ;  so  he  laugh 'd,  and  let  me 
go.  But  what  talk  we  of  fathers,  when  there  is  such  a 
man  as  Orlando } 

Cel.  Oh,  that's  a  brave  man  !  he  writes  brave  verses, 
speaks  brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths,  and  breaks 
them  bravely,  quite  traverse,  athwart  the  heart  of  his 
lover,  as  a  puny  tilter,  that  spurs  his  horse  but  on  one 
side,  breaks  his  staff  like  a  noble  goose  ;  but  all's  brave 
that  youth  mounts  and  folly  guides.  Who  comes 
here } 

Enter  Corin. 

Cor.  Mistress  and  master,  you  have  oft  inquired 
After  the  shepherd  that  complain'd  of  love, 
Who  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  the  turf. 
Praising  the  proud  disdainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Cel.  _  Well,  and  what  of  him  } 

Cor.  If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play'd 
Between  the  pale  complexion  of  true  love 
And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain. 


124  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Go  hence  a  little,  and  I  shall  conduct  you, 
If  you  will  mark  it. 

Ros.  Oh,  come,  let  us  remove ; 

The  sight  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love. 
Bring  us  to  this  sight,  and  you  shall  say 
I'll  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.  \_Exetini. 

Scene  V. — Enter  Silvius  and  Phebe. 

Sil.  Sweet  Phebe,  do  not  scorn  me,  do  not,  Phebe ; 
Say  that  you  love  me  not,  but  say  not  so 
In  bitterness.     The  common  executioner, 
Whose   heart    the    accustom'd    sight  of   death    makes 

hard, 
Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humbled  neck. 
But  first  begs  pardon ;  will  you  sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  lives  by  bloody  drops  ? 

Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin. 

Phe.   I  would  not  be  thy  executioner, 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  tell'st  me  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye ; 
'Tis  pretty  sure,  and  very  probable, 
That  eyes,  that  are  the  frail'st  and  softest  things, 
Who  shut  their  coward  gates  on  atomies. 
Should  be  called  tyrants,  butchers,  murderers ! 
Now  I  do  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart. 
And  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill  thee; 
Now,  counterfeit  to  swoon,  why,  now,  fall  down  ! 
Or,  if  thou  canst  not,  oh,  for  shame,  for  shame. 
Lie  not,  to  say  mine  eyes  are  murderers. 
Now,  show  the  wound  mine  eyes  hath  made  in  thee ; 
Scratch  thee  but  with  a  pin,  and  there  remains 
Some  scar  of  it.     Lean  but  upon  a  rush, 
The  cicatrice  and  capable  impressure 
Thy  palm  some  moment  keeps ;  but  now  mine  eyes, 
Which  I  have  darted  at  thee,  hurt  thee  not ; 
Nor  I  am  sure  there  is  no  force  in  eyes 
That  can  do  hurt. 


Platf  1 6 

"IT  IS   TEN  O'CLOCK.    THUS   MAY  WE   SEE,  QUOTH   HE, 
HOW   THE   WORLD   WAGS" 

As  You  Like  It,  act  ii.,  scene  vi. 


/x  >• ' 


Ki:-^-^#//i;^ 


K  -'^  -t^ 


y/^/y       ,     I 


i\  fl, 


:^ 


.J 


:-'l: 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  125 

Sil.  Oh,  dear  Phebe, 

If  ever  (as  that  ever  may  be  near) 
You  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy, 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds  invisible 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make. 

PJie.  But  till  that  time 

Come  not  thou  near  me ;  and  when  that  time  comes, 
Afflict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not, 
As,  till  that  time,  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 

Ros.  And   why,   I    pray  you?    Who  might  be  your 
mother, 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once, 
Over    the    wretched  ?       What    though,   you    have    no 

beauty. 
As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 
Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed. 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  } 
Why,  what  means  this  ?  Why  do  you  look  on  me  ? 
I  see  no  more  in  you  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  nature's  sale-work.     Od's  my  little  life ! 
I  think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too ; 
No,  faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it, 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black  silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  eye-balls,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 
That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. 
You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow  her 
Like  foggy  south,  puiflng  with  wind  and  rain  } 
You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man 
Than  she  a  woman.     'Tis  such  fools  as  you 
That  makes  the  world  full  of  ill-favour'd  children. 
'Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you  that  flatters  her, 
And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper 
Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her. 
But,  mistress,  know  yourself;  down  on  your  knees, 
And  thank  heaven  fasting  for  a  good  man's  love ; 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear. 
Sell  when  you  can,  you  are  not  for  all  markets. 
Cry  the  man  mercy,  love  him,  take  his  offer. 
Foul  is  most  foul,  being  foul  to  be  a  scoffer. 
So  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd ;  fare  you  well. 


126  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Phe.  Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you  chicle  a  year  together; 
I  had  rather  hear  you  chide  than  this  man  woo. 

Ros.  He's  fallen  in  love  with  your  foulness,  and  she'll 
fall  in  love  with  my  anger.  If  it  be  so,  as  fast  as  she  an- 
swers thee  with  frowning  looks,  I'll  sauce  her  with  bitter 
words.     Why  look  you  so  upon  me  1 

Phe.  For  no  ill  will  I  bear  you. 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me. 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine  ; 
Besides,  I  like  you  not.     If  you  will  know  my  house, 
'Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives,  here  hard  by. 
Will  you  go,  sister  1     Shepherd,  ply  her  hard. 
Come,  sister.     Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better, 
And  be  not  proud  ;  though  all  the  world  could  see. 
None  could  be  so  abus'd  in  sight  as  he. 
Come,  to  our  flock.  \^Exit. 

Phe,  Dead  shepherd,  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might: 
Whoever  lovd,  that  lovd  not  at  first  sight  ? 

Sil.  Sweet  Phebe. 

Phe.  Ha!  what  say 'st  thou,  Silvius.'' 

Sil.  Sweet  Phebe,  pity  me. 

Phe.  Why,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silvius. 

Sil.  Wherever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be ; 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love. 
By  giving  love  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
Were  both  extermin'd. 

Phe.  Thou  hast  my  love ;  is  not  that  neighbourly  ? 

Sil.  I  would  have  you. 

Phe.  Why,  that  were  covetousness. 

Silvius,  the  time  was  that  I  hated  thee. 
And  yet  it  is  not  that  I  bear  thee  love ; 
But  since  that  thou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well. 
Thy  company,  which  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
I  will  endure ;  and  I'll  employ  thee  too. 
But  do  not  look  for  further  recompense 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thou  art  employ' d. 

Sil.  So  holy  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 
And  I  in  such  a  poverty  of  grace. 
That  I  shall  think  it  a  most  plenteous  crop 
To  glean  the  broken  ears  after  the  man 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  127 


That  the  main  harvest  reaps ;  loose  now  and  then 

A  scatter'd  smile,  and  that  I'll  live  upon. 

Phe.  Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me  ere- 

while  ? 
Sil.  Not  very  well,  but  I  have  met  him  oft, 

And  he  hath  bought  the  cottage  and  the  bounds 

That  the  old  Carlos  once  was  master  of. 
Phe.  Think  not  I  love  him,  though  1  ask  for  him; 

'Tis  but  a  peevish  boy.     Yet  he  talks  well ; 

But  what  care  I  for  words }  yet  words  do  well, 

When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that  'hear. 

It  is  a  pretty  youth — not  very  pretty ; 

But,  sure,  he's  proud ;  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him. 

He'H  make  a  proper  man.     The  best  thing  in  him 

Ishis  complexion;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 

Did  make  offence  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  very  tall ;  yet  for  his  years  he's  tall. 
His  leg  is  but  so  so ;  and  yet  'tis  well. 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip; 
A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 

Than  that  mix'd  in  his  cheek  ;  'twas  just  the  difference 
Betwixt  the  constant  red  and  mingled  damask. 
There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  they  mark'd  him 
In  parcels  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 
To  fall  in  love  with  him;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  love  him  not,  nor  hate  him  not;  and  yet 
Have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him. 
For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me } 
He  said  mine  eyes  were  black,  and  my  hair  black; 
And,  now  I  am  remember'd,  scorn'd  at  me. 
I  marvel^  why  I  answer'd  not  again  ; 
But  that's  all  one ;  omittance  is  no  quittance. 
I'll  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter, 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it.     Wilt  thou,  Silvius  t 
Sil.  Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

^t^^^'         ,    .  I'll  write  it  straight; 

Ihe  matters  m  my  head  and  in  my  heart. 

I  will  be  bitter  with  him,  and  passing  short 

Go  with  me,  Silvius.  lExeunt. 


128  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

ACT    IV 
Scene  I.  —  Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Jaques. 

Jaq.  I  prithee,  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better  ac- 
quainted with  thee. 

Ros.  They  say  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

Jaq.  I  am  so ;   I  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Ros.  Those  that  are  in  extremity  of  either  are  abom- 
inable fellows,  and  betray  themselves  to  every  modern 
censure,  worse  than  drunkards. 

Jaq.  Why,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Ros.  Why,  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  post. 

Jaq.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which 
is  emulation ;  nor  the  musician's,  wdiich  is  fantastical ; 
nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud ;  nor  the  soldier's, 
which  is  ambitious ;  nor  the  lawyer's,  which  is  politic ; 
nor  the  lady's,  which  is  nice ;  nor  the  lover's,  which  is 
all  these ;  but  it  is  a  melancholy  of  mine  own,  com- 
pounded of  many  simples,  extracted  from  many  ob- 
jects ;  and,  indeed,  the  sundry  contemplation  of  my 
travels ;  which,  by  often  rumination,  wraps  me  in  a 
most  humorous  sadness. 

Ros.  A  traveller !  By  my  faith,  you  have  great  rea- 
son to  be  sad.  I  fear  you  have  sold  your  own  lands 
to  see  other  men's ;  then,  to  have  seen  much,  and  to 
have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes  and  poor  hands. 

Jaq.  Yes,  I  have  gain'd  my  experience. 

Enter  Orlando. 

Ros.  And  your  experience  makes  you  sad.  I  had 
rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry  than  experience 
to  make  me  sad,  and  to  travel  for  it  too. 

Orl.  Good-day,  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind ! 

Jaq.  Nay,  then,  God  buy  you,  and  you  talk  in  blank 
verse. 

Ros.  Farewell,  monsieur  traveller.  Look  you  lisp 
and  wear  strange  suits ;  disable  all  the  benefits  of  your 
own  country ;   be  out  of  love  with   your  nativity,  and 


Plate  17 

GIVE   ME   YOUR   HAND,  ORLANDO 

Ah  You  Like  It,  act  iv..  scene  i. 


-t 

' 

r 

i 

^  L  I 


AS    VOLT  LIKE  IT  129 

almost  chide  God  for  making  you  that  countenance 
you  are,  or  I  will  scarce  think  you  have  swam  in  a  gon- 
dola. Why,  how  now,  Orlando !  where  have  you  been 
all  this  while  ?  You  a  lover?  And  you  serve  me  such 
another  trick,  never  come  in  my  sight  more. 

Orl.  My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of  my 
promise. 

Ros.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love  t  He  that  will 
divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and  break  but  a 
part  of  the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute  in  the  affairs 
of  love,  it  may  be  said  of  him  that  Cupid  hath  clapp'd 
him  o'  the  shoulder,  but  I'll  warrant  him  heart-whole. 

Orl.  Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind. 

Ros.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in  my 
sight.     I  had  as  lief  be  woo'd  of  a  snail. 

Orl.  Of  a  snail  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  of  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly  he 
carries  his  house  on  his  head ;  a  better  jointure,  I  think, 
than  you  make  a  woman.  Besides,  he  brings  his  des- 
tiny with  him. 

Orl.  What's  that } 

Ros.  Why,  horns ;  which  such  as  you  are  fain  to  be 
beholding  to  your  wives  for.  But  he  comes  armed  in 
his  fortune,  and  prevents  the  slander  of  his  wife. 

Orl.  Virtue  is  no  horn-maker;  and  my  Rosalind  is 
virtuous. 

Ros.  And  I  am  your  Rosalind. 

Cel.  It  pleases  him  to  call  you  so  ,*  but  he  hath  a 
Rosalind  of  a  better  leer  than  you. 

Ros.  Come,  woo  me,  woo  me;  for  now  I  am  in  a 
holiday  humour,  and  like  enough  to  consent.  What 
would  you  say  to  me  now,  and  I  were  your  very,  very 
Rosalind.'* 

Orl.  I  would  kiss  before  I  spoke. 

Ros.  Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first;  and  when 
you  were  gravelled  for  lack  of  matter,  you  might  take 
occasion  to  kiss.  Very  good  orators,  when  they  are 
out,  they  will  spit ;  and  for  lovers,  lacking  (God  warn 
us  !)  matter,  the  cleanliest  shift  is  to  kiss. 

Orl.  How  if  the  kiss  be  denied.'* 


130  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ros.  Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there  be- 
gins new  matter. 

Orl.  Who  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved 
mistress  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  were  your  mistress  ; 
or  I  should  think  my  honesty  ranker  than  my  wit. 

Orl.  What  of  my  suit  ? 

Ros.  Not  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  out  of  your 
suit.     Am  not  I  your  Rosalind  ? 

Orl.  I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I  would 
be  talking  of  her. 

Ros.  Well,  in  her  person,  I  say — I  will  not  have 
you. 

Orl.  Then,  in  mine  own  person,  I  die. 

Ros.  No,  faith,  die  by  attorney.  The  poor  world  is 
almost  six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there 
was  not  any  man  died  in  his  own  person,  videlicet,  in  a 
love-cause.  Troilus  had  his  brains  dashed  out  with  a 
Grecian  club ;  yet  he  did  what  he  could  to  die  before ; 
and  he  is  one  of  the  patterns  of  love.  Leander,  he 
would  have  lived  many  a  fair  year,  though  Hero  had 
turned  nun,  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  hot  midsummer 
night :  for,  good  youth,  he  went  but  forth  to  wash  him 
in  the  Hellespont,  and,  being  taken  with  the  cramp,  was 
drowned ;  and  the  foolish  chroniclers  of  that  age  found 
it  was — Hero  of  Sestos.  But  these  are  all  lies ;  men 
have  died  from  time  to  time  and  worms  have  eaten 
them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orl.  I  would  not  have  my  right  Rosalind  of  this 
mind,  for  I  protest  her  frown  might  kill  me. 

Ros.  By  this  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  fly.  But  come, 
now  I  will  be  your  Rosalind  in  a  more  coming-on  dis- 
position, and  ask  me  what  you  will  I  will  grant  it. 

Orl.  Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Ros.  Yes,  faith  will  I,  Frida3^s  and  Saturdays  and 
all. 

Orl.  And  wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orl.  What  say'st  thou  } 

Ros.  Are  you  not  good  ? 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  131 

Orl.  I  hope  so. 

Ros.  Why,  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  ?  Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest,  and  marry 
us.  Give  me  your  hand,  Orlando.  What  do  you  say, 
sister  ? 

Orl.  Pray  thee,  marry  us. 

Cel.  I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Ros.  You  must  begin.  Will  you,  Orlando. 

Cel.  Go  to.  Will  you,  Orlando,  have  to  wife  this 
Rosalind } 

Orl.  I  will. 

Ros.  Ay,  but  when  1 

Orl.  Why,  now ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 

Ros.  Then  you  must  say,  I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for 
wife. 

Orl.  I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Ros.  I  might  ask  you  for  your  commission;  but — I 
do  take  thee,  Orlando,  for  my  husband.  There's  a  girl 
goes  before  the  priest ;  and,  certainly,  a  woman's  thought 
runs  before  her  actions. 

Orl.  So  do  all  thoughts  ;  they  are  wing'd. 

Ros.  Now  tell  me  how  long  you  would  have  her  af- 
ter you  have  possessed  her. 

Orl.  For  ever  and  a  day. 

Ros.  Say  a  day  without  the  ever.  No,  no,  Orlando ; 
men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December  when  they 
wed.  Maids  are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  the  sky 
changes  when  they  are  wives.  I  will  be  more  jealous 
of  thee  than  a  barbary  cock-pigeon  over  his  hen  ;  more 
clamorous  than  a  parrot  against  rain  ;  more  new-fan- 
gled than  an  ape ;  more  giddy  in  my  desires  than  a 
monkey.  I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like  Diana  in  the 
fountain,  and  I  will  do  that  when  you  are  disposed  to 
be  merry.  I  will  laugh  like  a  hyena,  and  that  when 
thou  art  inclined  to  sleep. 

Orl.  But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so  ? 

Ros.  By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orl.  Oh,  but  she  is  wise. 

Ros.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do  this  : 
the  wiser  the  waywarden      Make  the  doors  upon  a  wom- 


132  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

an's  wit,  and  it  will  out  at  the  casement ;  shut  that, 
and  'twill  out  at  the  key-hole  ;  stop  that,  'twill  fly  with 
the  smoke  out  at  the  chimney. 

Orl.  A  man  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he  might 
say,  Wit,  whither  wilt  ? 

Ros.  Nay,  you  might  keep  that  check  for  it  till  you 
met  your  wife's  wit  going  to  your  neighbour's  bed. 

Orl.  And  what  wit  could  wit  have  to  excuse  that  t 

Ros.  Marry,  to  say  she  came  to  seek  you  there. 
You  shall  never  take  her  without  her  answer  unless 
you  take  her  without  her  tongue.  Oh,  that  woman 
that  cannot  make  her  fault  her  husband's  occasion,  let 
her  never  nurse  her  child  herself,  for  she  will  breed  it 
like  a  fool. 

Orl.  For  these  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave  thee. 

Ros.  Alas,  dear  love,  I  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

Orl.  I  must  attend  the  duke  at  dinner;  by  two 
o'clock  I  will  be  with  thee  again. 

Ros.  Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways.  I  knew  what 
you  would  prove.  My  friends  told  me  as  much,  and  I 
thought  no  less.  That  flattering  tongue  of  yours  won 
me.  'Tis  but  one  cast  away,  and  so — come,  death.  Two 
o'clock  is  your  hour  ? 

Orl.  Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Ros.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so  God 
mend  me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not  danger- 
ous, if  you  break  one  jot  of  your  promise,  or  come  one 
minute  behind  your  hour,  I  will  think  you  the  most 
pathetical  break-promise,  and  the  most  hollow  lover, 
and  the  most  unworthy  of  her  you  call  Rosalind,  that 
may  be  chosen  out  of  the  gross  band  of  the  unfaithful : 
therefore,  beware  my  censure,  and  keep  your  promise. 

Orl.  With  no  less  religion  than  if  thou  wert  indeed 
my  Rosalind.     So,  adieu. 

Ros.  Well,  time  is  the  old  justice  that  examines  all 
such  offenders,  and  let  time  try.     Adieu  !  \^Exit. 

Cel.  You  have  simply  misus'd  our  sex  in  your  love 
prate.  We  must  have  your  doublet  and  hose  pluck'd 
over  your  head,  and  show  the  world  what  the  bird  hath 
done  to  her  own  nest. 


AS    VOW  LIKE  IT  133 

Ros.  Oh,  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that  thou 
didst  know  how  many  fathoms  deep  I  am  in  love !  But 
it  cannot  be  sounded ;  my  affection  hath  an  unknown 
bottom,  like  the  bay  of  Portugal. 

Cel.  Or,  rather,  bottomless  ;  that  as  fast  as  you  pour 
affection  in,  it  runs  out. 

Ros.  No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus,  that  was 
begot  of  thought,  conceiv'd  of  spleen,  and  born  of  mad- 
ness ;  that  blind,  rascally  boy  that  abuses  every  one's 
eyes  because  his  own  are  out,  let  him  be  judge  how 
deep  I  am  in  love.  I'll  tell  thee,  Aliena,  I  cannot  be  out 
of  the  sight  of  Orlando.  I'll  go  find  a  shadow,  and  sio-h 
till  he  come.  ^ 

Cel.  And  ril  sleep.  lExeimt. 

Scene   II. — Enter  Jaques  and  Lords,  Foresters. 

Jaq.  Which  is  he  that  killed  the  deer.? 

Lord.  Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaq.  Let's  present  him  to  the  duke,  like  a  Roman 
conqueror ;  and  it  would  do  well  to  set  the  deer's  horns 
upon  his  head  for  a  branch  of  victory.  Have  you  no 
song,  forester,  for  this  purpose  } 

Lord.  Yes,  sir. 

Jaq.  Sing  it ;  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  in  tune,  so  it 


makes  noise  enoueh. 


MUSIC,  SONG. 


What  shall  he  have  that  kilVd  the  deer  ? 
His  leather  skin  and  horns  to  wear. 

Then  sing  him  home ;  the  rest  shall  bear  this  burden. 

Take  thou  no  scorn  to  wear  the  horn  ; 
It  was  a  crest  ere  thoic  wast  born; 

Thy  father  s  father  wore  it  ; 
And  thy  father  bore  it. 

The  horn,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn 
Is  not  a  thing  to  laugh  to  scorn. 

\_Lxe2inL 


134  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Scene  III. — Eiiter  Rosalind  and  Cyaa^. 

Ros.  How  say  you  now  ?     Is  it  not  past  two  o'clock  ? 
and  here  much  Orlando  ! 

Cel.  I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love  and  troubled  brain. 

Enter  Silvius. 

He  hath  ta'en  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  is  gone  forth 
To  sleep.     Look,  who  comes  here. 

Sil.  My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth. 
My  gentle  Phebe  did  bid  me  give  you  this. 
I  know  not  the  contents ;  but,  as  I  guess 
By  the  stern  brow  and  waspish  action 
Which  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  of  it, 
It  bears  an  angry  tenor.     Pardon  me, 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Ros.  Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  letter, 
And  play  the  swaggerer.     Bear  this,  bear  all. 
She  says  I  am  not  fair ;  that  I  lack  manners ; 
She  calls  me  proud  ;  and  that  she  could  not  love  me 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phoenix.     Od's  my  will ! 
Her  love  is  not  the  hare  that  I  do  hunt. 
Why  writes  she  so  to  me  t — Well,  shepherd,  well. 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device. 

Sil.  No,  I  protest  I  know  not  the  contents. 
Phebe  did  write  it. 

Ros.  Come,  come,  you  are  a  fool. 

And  turn'd  into  the  extremity  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand :  she  has  a  leathern  hand, 
A  freestone-coloured  hand.    I  verily  did  think 
That  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  'twas  her  hands. 
She  has  a  huswife's  hand — but  that's  no  matter. 
I  say  she  never  did  invent  this  letter. 
This  is  a  man's  invention,  and  his  hand. 

Sil.  Sure  it  is  hers. 

Ros.  Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  a  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers !  why,  she  defies  me 
Like  Turk  to  Christian.     Woman's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  forth  such  giant-rude  invention, 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  135 

Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 

Than  in  their  countenance.     Will  you  hear  the  letter? 

Sil.  So  please  you,  for  I  never  heard  it  yet ; 
Yet  heard  too  much  of  Phebe's  cruelty. 

Ros.  She  Phebes  me.     Mark  how  the  tyrant  writes. 

\Reads. 

Art  thou  god  to  shepherd  turiid. 
That  a  maiden  s  heart  hath  burti'd? 

Can  a  woman  rail  thus  } 
Sil.  Call  you  this  railing  } 
Ros.  [reads^ 

Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 
Warst  thou  with  a  woma?i's  heart? 

Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing } 

While  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me. 
That  could  do  no  vengeance  to  me — 

Meaning  me,  a  beast. 

If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne 

Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine. 

Alack,  in  me  what  strange  effect 

Would  they  work  in  mild  aspect  ? 

Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love  ; 
How  then  might  your  prayers  move  ? 
He  that  brings  this  love  to  thee 
Little  knows  this  love  in  me. 
A7id  by  him  seal  tip  thy  mifid  ; 

Whether  that  thy  youth  and  kind 

Will  the  faithful  offer  take 
Of  me,  and  all  that  I  can  make  ; 
Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny. 
And  then  Til  study  how  to  die. 

Sil.  Call  you  this  chiding  1 

Cel.  Alas,  poor  shepherd  ! 

Ros.  Do  you  pity  him  ?  No,  he  deserves  no  pity. 
Wilt  thou  love  such  a  woman .?  What,  to  make  thee 
an  instrument,  and  play  false  strains  upon  thee  ?  not  to 
be  endured.     Well,  go  your  way  to  her  (for  1  see  love 


136  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

hath  made  thee  a  tame  snake),  and  say  this  to  her : 
That  if  she  loves  me,  I  charge  her  to  love  thee.  If  she 
will  not,  I  will  never  have  her  unless  thou  entreat  for 
her.  If  you  be  a  true  lover,  hence,  and  not  a  word  ;  for 
here  comes  more  company.  \Exit  Silvius. 

Enter  Oliver. 

Oil.  Good-morrow,  fair  ones.     Pray  you,  if  you  know 
Where,  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest,  stands 
A  sheep-cote,  fenced  about  with  olive-trees  ? 

Cel.  West  of  this  place,  down  in  the  neighbour  bot- 
tom, 
The  rank  of  osiers,  by  the  murmuring  stream, 
Left  on  your  right  hand,  brings  you  to  the  place. 
But  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  keep  itself; 
There's  none  within. 

Oli.  If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue, 
Then  should  I  know  you  by  description ; 
Such  garments,  and  such  years.     The  boy  is  fair, 
Of  female  favour,  and  bestows  himself 
Like  a  ripe  sister ;  the  woman  low, 
And  browner  than  her  brother.     Are  not  you 
The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for } 

Cel.  It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say  we  are. 

Oli.  Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both ; 
And  to  that  youth  he  calls  his  Rosalind 
He  sends  this  bloody  napkin.     Are  you  he  ? 

Ros.  I  am.     What  must  we  understand  by  this  ? 

Oli.  Some  of  my  shame ;  if  you  will  know  of  me 
What  man  I  am,  and  how,  and  why,  and  where 
This  handkerchief  was  stain'd. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  tell  it. 

Oli.  When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from  you. 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again 
Within  an  hour;  and,  pacing  through  the  forest, 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  befell !     He  threw  his  eye  aside, 
And  mark,  what  object  did  present  itself ! 
Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd  with  age 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  137 

And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 

A  wretched,  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair, 

Lay  sleeping  on  his  back.     About  his  neck 

A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath'd  itself. 

Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approach'd 

The  opening  of  his  mouth ;  but  suddenly, 

Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself. 

And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 

Into  a  bush:  under  which  bush's  shade 

A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 

Lay  couching,  head  on  ground,  with  cat-like  watch, 

When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir;  for  'tis 

The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast 

To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead. 

This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man. 

And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 

Cel.  Oh,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same  brother; 
And  he  did  render  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  liv'd  amongst  men. 

^^^-  And  well  he  might  so  do, 

tor  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Ros.  But  to  Orlando.     Did  he  leave  him  there. 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness.? 

Oli.  Twice  did  he  turn  his  back,  and  purposed  so. 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion, 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness. 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him ;  in  which  hurtlino- 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awaked.  ^ 

Cel.  Are  you  his  brother  t 

■^^/'  Was't  you  he  rescued  } 

Cel.  Was  t  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill  him .? 

Oli.  'Twas  I ,  but  'tis  not  I.     I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  I  am. 

Ros.  But  for  the  bloody  napkin  } 

^.r?^''  c  B3.'.and-by. 

When  from  the  first  to  last,  betwixt  us  two, 
Tears  our  recountments  had  most  kindly  b'ath'd; 
As,  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place.  '     ' 


138  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  duke, 

Who  gave  me  fresh  array  and  entertainment, 

Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love; 

Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave. 

There  stripp'd  himself,  and  here  upon  his  arm 

The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away, 

Which  all  this  while  had  bled ;  and  now  he  fainted, 

And  cry'd  in  fainting  upon  Rosalind. 

Brief,  I  recover'd  him ;  bound  up  his  wound ; 

And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart, 

He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am, 

To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 

His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin, 

Dyed  in  his  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 

That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  how  now,  Ganymede  ? — sweet  Ganymede  ? 

Oil.  Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood. 

Cel.  There  is  more  in  it. — Cousin  Ganymede ! 

Oil.  Look,  he  recovers. 

Ros.  I  would  I  were  at  home. 

Cel.  We'll  lead  you  thither. — 
I  pray  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm  } 

OH.   Be  of  good  cheer,  youth.     You  a  man } 
You  lack  a  man's  heart. 

Ros.   I  do  so,  I  do  confess  it. 
Ah,  sir,  a  body  would  think  this  was  well  counterfeited. 
I  pray  you,  tell  your  brother  how  well  I  counterfeited. — 
Heigh-ho ! 

Oli.  This  was  not  counterfeit;  there  is  too  great  tes- 
timony in  your  complexion  that  it  was  a  passion  of 
earnest. 

Ros.  Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

Oli.  Well,  then,  take  a  good  heart,  and  counterfeit  to 
be  a  man. 

Ros.  So  I  do ;  but,  i'faith,  I  should  have  been  a  wom- 
an by  right. 

Cel.  Come,  you  look  paler  and  paler ;  pray  you,  draw 
homewards. — Good  sir,  go  with  us. 

Oli.  That  will  I,  for  I  must  bear  answer  back 
How  you  excuse  my  brother,  Rosalind. 


Pf,ATF,   t8 

AUDREY 

As  Vou  Like  It,  act  v.,  scene  i. 


«^    Xs>^^ 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  139 

Ros.  I  shall  devise  something.  But,  I  pray  you,  com- 
mend my  counterfeiting  to  him.     Will  you  go.^* 

\_Exe2mt. 

ACT   V 
Scene  I. — Enter  Clown  and  Audrey. 

Clozi'n.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey ;  patience,  gen- 
tle Audrey. 

Aiid.  'Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all  the 
old  gentleman's  saying. 

Cloiun.  A  most  wicked  Sir  Oliver,  Audrey,  a  most 
vile  Mar-text.  But,  Audrey,  there  is  a  youth  here  in 
the  forest  lays  claim  to  you. 

A2id.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis ;  he  hath  no  interest  in 
me  in  the  world.     Here  com^s  the  man  you  mean. 

E7iter  William. 

Clown.  It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown. 
By  my  troth,  we  that  have  good  wits  have  much  to  an- 
swer for ;  we  shall  be  flouting ;  we  cannot  hold. 

Will.  Good-even,  Audrey. 

Aud.  God  ye  good-even,  William. 

Will.  And  good-even  to  you,  sir. 

Clown.  Good-even,  gentle  friend.  Cover  thy  head, 
cover  thy  head ;  nay,  prithee,  be  covered.  How  old  are 
you,  friend  1 

Will.  Five-and-twenty,  sir. 

Clown.  A  ripe  age.     Is  thy  name  William  1 

Will.  William,  sir. 

Clozun.  A  fair  name.     Wast  born  i'  the  forest  here  ? 

Will.  Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Clozun.   Thank  God ;  a  good  answer. 
Art  rich  ? 

Will.  'Faith,  sir,  so,  so. 

Clown.  So,  so,  is  good,  very  good,  very  excellent  good: 
and  yet  it  is  not;  it  is  but  so,  so. 
Art  thou  wise  ? 

Will  Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 


I40  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Clown.  Why,  thou  say'st  well.  I  do  now  remember 
a  saying :  The  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise,  but  the  wise 
man  knows  himself  to  be  a  fool.  The  heathen  philoso- 
pher, when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open 
his  lips  when  he  put  it  into  his  mouth ;  meaning  there- 
by that  grapes  were  made  to  eat  and  lips  to  open. 
You  do  love  this  maid } 

Will  I  do,  sir. 

Clown.  Give  me  your  hand.     Art  thou  learned.'' 

Will  xNo,  sir. 

Clow7i.  Then  learn  this  of  me  :  To  have,  is  to  have. 
For  it  is  a  figure  in  rhetoric  that  drink,  being  poured 
out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass,  by  filling  the  one  doth  empty 
the  other.  For  all  your  w^-iters  do  consent  that  ipse  is 
he ;  now  you  are  not  ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

Will  Which  he,  sir.? 

Cloiun.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman.  There- 
fore, you  clown,  abandon  ;  which  is,  in  the  vulgar,  leave, 
the  society ;  which,  in  the  boorish,  is,  company,  of  this 
female ;  which,  in  the  common,  is,  woman ;  which,  to- 
gether, is,  abandon  the  society  of  this  female ;  or,  clown, 
thou  perishest ;  or,  to  thy  better  understanding,  diest ; 
or,  to  wit,  I  kill  thee,  make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life 
into  death,  thy  liberty  into  bondage.  I  will  deal  in 
poison  with  thee,  or  in  bastinado,  or  in  steel ;  I  will 
bandy  with  thee  in  faction ;  I  will  o'errun  thee  with  po- 
lice ;  I  will  kill  thee  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways :  there- 
fore tremble,  and  depart. 

And.  Do,  good  William. 

Will.  God  rest  you,  merry  sir.  \JElxit. 

Enter  Corin. 

Cor.  Our  master  and  mistress  seeks  you;  come,  away, 
away. 

Clown.  Trip,  Audrey,  trip,  Audrey.  I  attend,  I  at- 
tend. \_Exeunt. 


AS    VOLT  LIKE  IT  141 

Scene  II. — Enter  Orlando  and  Oliver. 

Orl.  Is't  possible  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you 
should  like  her  ?  that  but  seeing  you  should  love  her  ? 
and,  loving,  woo  ?  and,  wooing,  she  should  grant  ?  and 
will  you  persevere  to  enjoy  her  ? 

OIL  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question,  the 
poverty  of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my  sudden  woo- 
ing, nor  her  sudden  consenting;  but  say,  with  me,  I 
love  Aliena ;  say,  with  her,  that  she  loves  me ;  consent 
with  both  that  we  may  enjoy  each  other:  it  shall  be  to 
your  good :  for  my  father's  house,  and  all  the  revenue 
that  was  old  Sir  Rowland's,  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and 
here  live  and  die  a  shepherd. 

Enter  Rosalind. 

Orl.  You  have  my  consent. 
Let  your  wedding  be  to-morrow  ;  thither  will  I 
Invite  the  duke,  and  all  his  contented  followers. 
Go  you,  and  prepare  Aliena ;  for,  look  you, 
Here  comes  my  Rosalind. 

Ros.  God  save  you,  brother. 

Orl.  And  you,  fair  sister. 

Ros.  Oh,  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to  see 
thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf. 

Orl.  It  is  my  arm. 

Ros.  I  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with  the 
claws  of  a  lion. 

Orl.  Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Ros.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counterfeited 
to  swoon  when  he  showed  me  your  handkerchief  ? 

Orl.  Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Ros.  Oh,  I  know  where  you  are.  Nay,  'tis  true: 
there  never  was  anything  so  sudden  but  the  fight  of 
two  rams,  and  Caesar's  Thrasonical  brag  of,  I  came,  saw, 
and  overcome.  For  your  brother  and  my  sister  no  soon- 
er met  but  they  looked ;  no  sooner  looked  but  they 
loved ;  no  sooner  loved  but  they  sighed ;  no  sooner 
sighed  but  they  asked  one  another  the    reason ;    no 


142  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

sooner  knew  the  reason  but  they  sought  the  remedy: 
and  in  these  degrees  have  they  made  a  pair  of  stairs  to 
marriage,  which  they  will  climb  incontinent,  or  else  be 
incontinent  before  marriage.  They  are  in  the  very 
wrath  of  love,  and  they  will  together ;  clubs  cannot  part 
them. 

Or/.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow;  and  I  will 
bid  the  duke  to  the  nuptial.  But  oh,  how  bitter  a 
thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another  man's 
eyes !  By  so  much  the  more  shall  I  to-morrow  be  at 
the  height  of  heart- heaviness,  by  how  much  I  shall 
think  my  brother  happy  in  having  what  he  wishes  for. 

Ros.  Why,  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your  turn 
for  Rosalind } 

Orl.  I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Ros.  I  will  weary  you  then  no  longer  with  idle  talking. 
Know  of  me,  then  (for  now  I  speak  to  some  purpose), 
that  I  know  you  are  a  gentleman  of  good  conceit.  I 
speak  not  this  that  you  should  bear  a  good  opinion  of 
my  knowledge;  insomuch,  I  say,  I  know  you  are;  nei- 
ther do  I  labour  for  a  greater  esteem  than  may  in  some 
little  measure  draw  a  belief  from  you,  to  do  yourself 
good,  and  not  to  grace  me.  Believe  then,  if  you  please, 
that  I  can  do  strange  things.  I  have,  since  I  was  three 
years  old,  conversed  with  a  magician  most  profound  in 
his  art,  and  yet  not  damnable.  If  you  do  love  Rosa- 
lind so  near  the  heart  as  your  gesture  cries  it  out,  when 
your  brother  marries  Aliena,  shall  you  marry  her.  I 
know  into  what  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven ;  and  it 
is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it  appear  not  inconvenient  to 
you,  to  set  her  before  your  eyes  to-morrow;  human  as 
she  is,  and  without  any  danger. 

Orl.  Speak'st  thou  in  sober  meanings  ? 

Ros.  By  my  life,  I  do;  which  I  tender  dearly,  though 
I  say  I  am  a  magician.  Therefore  put  you  in  your 
best  array,  bid  your  friends ;  for  if  you  will  be  married 
to-morrow,  you  shall;  and  to  Rosalind  if  you  will. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  143 

Enter  Silvius  and  Phebe. 

Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine  and  a  lover  of  hers. 

Phe.  Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungentleness 
To  show  the  letter  that  I  writ  to  you. 

Ros.  I  care  not,  if  I  have :  it  is  my  study 
To  seem  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you. 
You  are  there  followed  by  a  faithful  shepherd ; 
Look  upon  him,  love  him ;  he  worships  you. 

Phe.  Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  to  love. 

SiL  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  I  for  Ganymede, 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sil.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sil.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  fantasy, 
All  made  of  passion,  and  all  made  of  wishes ; 
All  adoration,  duty,  and  observance  ; 
All  humbleness,  all  patience,  and  impatience, 
All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance  ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  so  am  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

Phe.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you } 

Sil.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  '^. 

Orl.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you } 

Ros.  Why  do  you  speak  too,  why  blame  you  me  to  love 
you  ? 

Orl.  To  her  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear. 

Ros.  Pray  you,  no  more  of  this;  'tis  like  the  howling 
of  Irish  wolves  against  the  moon.  I  will  help  you  if  I 
can.  I  would  love  you  if  I  could.  To-morrow  meet 
me  all  together.  I  will  marry  you  if  ever  I  marry 
woman,  and   I'll  be  married  to-morrow.     I  will  satisfy 


144  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

you  if  ever  I  satisfied  man,  and  you  shall  be  married 
to-morrow.  I  will  content  you,  if  what  pleases  you 
contents  you,  and  you  shall  be  married  to-morrow.  As 
you  love  Rosalind,  meet ;  as  you  love  Phebe,  meet ; 
and  as  I  love  no  woman,  I'll  meet.  So  fare  you  well ; 
I  have  left  you  commands. 

Sil.   ril  not  fail,  if  I  live. 

Phe.  Nor  I. 

Orl.  Nor  I.       \Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Enter  Clown  and  Audrey. 

Clow7t.  To-morrow  is  the  joyful  day,  Audrey ;  to- 
morrow will  we  be  married. 

Aud.  I  do  desire  it  with  all  my  heart ;  and  I  hope  it 
is  no  dishonest  desire  to  desire  to  be  a  woman  of  the 
world.     Here  comes  two  of  the  banish'd  duke's  pages. 

Enter  two  Pages. 

1  Page.  Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 

Clown.  By  my  troth,  well  met.  Come,  sit,  sit,  and  a 
song. 

2  Page.  We  are  for  you.     Sit  i'  the  middle. 

1  Page.  Shall  we  clap  into't  roundly,  without  hawk- 
ing, or  spitting,  or  saying  we  are  hoarse,  which  are 
the  only  prologues  to  a  bad  voice } 

2  Page.  I'faith,  i'faith  ;  and  both  in  a  tune,  like  two 
gypsies  on  a  horse. 

SONG. 

//  was  a  lover  and  his  lass. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  atid  a  hey  nom'no, 
That  o'er  the  green  corn-field  did  pass 

In  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty  ra7ik  time. 
When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

And  therefore  take  the  present  time. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  7ionino; 
For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime 
In  spring-time,  &'C. 


Pf.AlK    (9 

YOU    DO    LOVE   THIS   MAID?' 
As  V'ou  Like  It,  act  v.,  scene  i 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  145 

Between  the  acres  of  the  rye, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  noni'no. 
These  pretty  country  folks  would  lie. 
In  spring-time,  &^c. 

This  carol  they  began  that  hour, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino; 

How  that  life  was  but  a  flower. 
In  spring-tifne,  &^c. 

Clown.  Truly,  young  gentlemen,  though  there  was 
no  greater  matter  in  the  ditty,  yet  the  note  was  very 
untunable. 

I  Page.  You  are  deceived,  sir ;  we  kept  time,  we  lost 
not  our  time. 

Clow7i.  By  my  troth,  yes ;  I  count  it  but  time  lost  to 
hear  such  a  foolish  song.  God  buy  you,  and  God 
mend  your  voices !     Come,  Audrey.  \_Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Enter  Duke  Senior,  Amiens,  Jaques,  Or- 
lando, Oliver,  Celia. 

Duke  S.  Dost  thou  believe,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised  ? 

Orl.  I  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do  not ; 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

Enter  Rosalind,  Silvius,  and  Phebe. 

Ros.  Patience    once    more,    whiles    our   compact   is 
urged. 
You  say  if  I  bring  in  your  Rosalind 
You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  ? 

Duke  S.  That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give  with 

her. 
Ros.  And  you  say  you  will  have  her  when   I  bring 

her  ? 
Orl.  That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 
Ros.  You  say  you'll  marry  me  if  I  be  willing  ? 
Phe.  That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 
Ros.  But  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me. 
You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shepherd  } 


146  COMEDIES   OF  SHAKESPEARE 

PIic.  So  is  the  bargain. 

Ros.     You  say  that  you'll  have  Phebe  if  she  will  ? 

Sil.  Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both  one 
thing, 

Ros.   I  have  promised  to  make  all  this  matter  even. 
Keep  you  your  word,  O  duke,  to  give  your  daughter ; 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter. 
Keep  you  your  word,  Phebe,  that  you'll  marry  me  ; 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd. 
Keep  your  word,  Silvius,  that  you'll  marry  her 
If  she  refuse  me  ;  and  from  hence  I  go 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even. 

\_Exe7int  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Duke  S.  I  do  remember  in  this  shepherd-boy 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  daughter's  favour. 

OrL  My  lord,  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him 
Methought  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter. 
But,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born, 
And  hath  been  tutor'd  in  the  rudiments 
Of  many  desperate  studies  by  his  uncle. 
Whom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician, 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 


Enter  Clown  and  Audrey. 

Jaq.  There  is  sure  another  flood  toward,  and  these 
couples  are  coming  to  the  ark !  Here  comes  a  pair  of 
very  strange  beasts,  which  in  all  tongues  are  called  fools. 

Clown.  Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all  I 

yaq.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome.  This  is  the 
motley-minded  gentleman  that  I  have  so  often  met  in 
the  forest.     He  hath  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 

Clown.  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to  my 
purgation.  I  have  trod  a  measure ;  I  have  flattered  a 
lady;  I  have  been  politic  with  my  friend,  smooth  with 
mine  enemy  ;  I  have  undone  three  tailors  ;  I  have  had 
four  quarrels,  and  like  to  have  fought  one. 

'^aq.  And  how  was  that  ta'en  up  ? 

Clown.  'Faith,  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was 
upon  the  seventh  cause. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  147 

yaq.  How  seventh  cause  ?  Good  my  lord,  like  this 
fellow. 

Duke  S.   I  like  him  very  well. 

Clown.  God'ild  you,  sir.  I  desire  you  of  the  like. 
I  press  in  here,  sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the  country 
copulatives,  to  swear  and  to  forswear,  according  as  mar- 
riage binds  and  blood  breaks.  A  poor  virgin,  sir;  an 
ill-favoured  thing,  sir,  but  mine  own  ;  a  poor  humour  of 
mine,  sir,  to  take  that  that  no  man  else  will.  Rich  hon- 
esty dwells  like  a  miser,  sir,  in  a  poor  house,  as  your 
pearl  in  your  foul  oyster. 

Duke  S.  By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  senten- 
tious. 

Clown.  According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and  such 
dulcet  diseases. 

yaq.  But  for  the  seventh  cause.  How  did  you  find 
the  quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause } 

Clown.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed — bear  your 
body  more  seeming,  Audrey — as  thus,  sir  :  I  did  dislike 
the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard.  He  sent  me  word 
if  I  said  his  beard  was  not  cut  well,  he  was  in  the  mind 
it  was:  this  is  called  the  retort  courteous.  If  I  sent 
him  word  again  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  send  me 
word  he  cut  it  to  please  himself:  this  is  called  the 
quip  modest.  If,  again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  disabled 
my  judgment:  this  is  called  the  reply  churlish.  If, 
again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  answer  I  spake  not 
true  :  this  is  called  the  reproof  valiant.  If,  again,  it 
was  not  well  cut,  he  would  say  I  lie :  this  is  called 
the  counter-check  quarrelsome.  And  so  the  lie  cu'cum- 
stantial,  and  the  lie  direct. 

yaq.  And  how  oft  did  you  say  his  beard  was  not  well 
cut.? 

Clown.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  lie  circumstan- 
tial, nor  he  durst  not  give  me  the  lie  direct,  and  so  we 
measured  swords,  and  parted. 

yaq.  Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees  of 
the  lie } 

Clown.  Oh,  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print  by  the  book,  as 
you  have  books  for  good  manners.     I  will  name  you 


148  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

the  degrees.  The  first,  the  retort  courteous ;  the  sec- 
ond, the  quip  modest ;  the  third,  the  reply  churlish  ;  the 
fourth,  the  reproof  valiant ;  the  fifth,  the  counter-check 
quarrelsome ;  the  sixth,  the  lie  with  circumstance  ,  the 
seventh,  the  lie  direct.  All  these  you  may  avoid  but 
the  lie  direct,  and  you  may  avoid  that,  too,  with  an  if. 
I  know  when  seven  justices  could  not  take  up  a  quarrel, 
but  when  the  parties  were  met  themselves,  one  of  them 
thought  but  of  an  if,  as  if  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so ; 
and  they  shook  hands,  and  swore  brothers.  Your  if  is 
the  only  peace-maker;  much  virtue  in  if. 

Jaq.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord  ?  he's  as  good 
at  anything,  and  yet  a  fool. 

Dzike  S.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse,  and, 
under  the  presentation  of  that,  he  shoots  his  wit. 

Enter  Hymen,  Rosalind,  and  Celia. 

STILL    MUSIC. 

Hymn.    Theii  is  there  mirth  ift  heaven, 
When  earthly  things  made  even. 

Atone  together. 
Good  duke,  receive  thy  daughter; 
Hymeti  from  lieaven  brought  her. 

Yea,  brought  her  hither. 
That  thou  might' st  join  her  hand  with  his 
Whose  heart  within  his  bosom  is. 

Ros.  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 
To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

Duke  S.    If   there    be    truth    in    sight,  you    are   my 

daughter. 
Orl.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  Rosalind. 
Phe.  If  sight  and  shape  be  true,  why  then,  my  love, 

adieu ! 
Ros.  I'll  have  no  father,  if  you  be  not  he. 
ril  have  no  husband,  if  you  be  not  he. 
Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she. 
Hym.    Peace,  ho  !   I  bar  confusion  ; 
'Tis  I  must  make  conclusion 
Of  these  most  strange  events. 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  149 

Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands, 
To  join  in  Hymen's  bands, 

If  truth  holds  true  contents. 
You  and  you  no  cross  shall  part. 
You  and  you  are  heart  in  heart. 
You  to  his  love  must  accord, 
Or  have  a  woman  to  your  lord. 
You  and  you  are  sure  together 
As  the  winter  to  foul  weather. 
Whiles  a  wedlock-hymn  we  sing, 
Feed  yourselves  with  questiojiing; 
That  reason,  wonder  may  diminish, 
How  thus  we  met,  and  these  things  finish. 

SONG. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno's  crown; 

O  blessed  bottd  of  board  afid  bed  f 
'  Tis  Hymen  peoples  every  town; 

High  wedlock  theft  be  honoured : 
Honour,  high  honour  and  renown, 
To  Hymen,  god  of  every  town  I 

Duke  S.  Oh,  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to  me; 
Even  daughter,  welcome  in  no  less  de2:ree. 

Pke.  I  will  not  eat  my  word,  now  thou  art  mine  ; 
Thy  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine. 

Enter  Second  Brother. 

2  Bro.  Let  me  have  audience  for  a  word  or  two. 
I  am  the  second  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland, 
That  bring  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly. 
Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day 
Men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest, 
Address'd  a  mighty  power,  which  were  on  foot, 
In  his  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here,  and  put  him  to  the  sword. 
And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came  ; 
Where,  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man. 
After  some  question  with  him,  was  converted 


150  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Both  from  his  enterprise  and  from  the  world, 
His  crown  bequeathing  to  his  banished  brother, 
And  all  their  lands  restored  to  them  again 
That  were  with  him  exiled.     This  to  be  true 
I  do  engage  my  life. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  young  man  ; 

Thou  offer'st  fairly  to  thy  brother's  wedding. 
To  one  his  lands  withheld,  and  to  the  other 
A  land  itself  at  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest,  let  us  do  those  ends 
That  here  were  well  begun  and  well  begot. 
And  after,  every  of  this  happy  number 
That  have  endured  shrewd  days  and  nights  with  us 
Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune. 
According  to  the  measure  of  their  states. 
Meantime,  forget  this  new-fall'n  dignity, 
And  fall  into  our  rustic  revelry : 
Play,  music ;  and  you,  brides  and  bridegrooms  all, 
With  measure  heap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jaq.  Sir,  by  your  patience.     If  I  heard  you  rightly, 
The  duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life, 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court  .-^ 

2  Bro.  He  hath. 

Jaq.  To  him  will  I.     Out  of  these  convertites 
There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  learn'd. 
You  to  your  former  honour  I  bequeath: 
Your  patience,  and  your  virtue  well  deserves  it. 
You  to  a  love  that  your  true  faith  doth  merit. 
You  to  your  land,  and  love,  and  great  allies. 
You  to  a  long  and  well -deserved  bed. 
And  you  to  wrangling;  for  thy  loving  voyage 
Is  but  for  two  months  victualled.    So  to  your  pleasures ; 
I  am  for  other  than  for  dancino:  measures. 

Duke  S.  Stay,  Jaques,  stay. 

Jaq.  To  see  no  pastime,  I.     What  you  would  have 
I'll  stay  to  know  at  your  abandon 'd  cave.  \^Exit. 

Dzike  S.  Proceed,  proceed :  we'll  begin  these  rites, 
As  we  do  trust  they'll  end  in  true  delights.  S^Exit. 

Ros.  It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  the  lady  the  epi- 
logue;  but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome  than  to  see  the 


AS    YOU  LIKE  IT  151 

lord  the  prologue.  If  It  be  true  that  good  wine  needs  no 
bush,  'tis  true  that  a  good  play  needs  no  epilogue.  Yet 
to  good  wine  they  do  use  good  bushes ;  and  good  plays 
prove  the  better  by  the  help  of  good  epilogues.  What 
a  case  am  I  in  then,  that  am  neither  a  good  epilogue, 
nor  cannot  insinuate  with  you  in  the  behalf  of  a  good 
play.?  I  am  not  furnished  like  a  beggar,  therefore  to 
beg  will  not  become  me.  My  way  is  to  conjure  you, 
and  I'll  begin  with  the  women.  I  charge  you,  O 
women,  for  the  love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as  much 
of  this  play  as  please  you.  And  I  charge  you,  O  men, 
for  the  love  you  bear  to  women  (as  I  perceive  by  your 
simpering  none  of  you  hate  them),  that  between  you 
and  the  women  the  play  may  please.  If  I  were  a 
woman,  I  would  kiss  as  many  of  you  as  had  beards  that 
pleased  me,  complexions  that  liked  me,  and  breaths 
that  I  defied  not.  And  I  am  sure,  as  many  as  have 
good  beards,  or  good  faces,  or  sweet  breaths,  will,  for 
my  kind  offer,  when  I  make  curt'sy,  bid  me  farewell. 

\_Exit. 


The  Comedy  of  Errors 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 

SoLiNUS,  Dnkc  of  Ephesus. 

^GEON,  a  Merchant  of  Syracuse. 

_  ^  (  t7i.'i/i  /'/-others,  and  At- 

Dromio  of  Ephesus  ^^^^^^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^,^^  ^,^,^ 

Dromio  of  Syracuse  |      Antipholuses. 

[  iwiti  brothers,  and 

^  Sons  to  ALgQon 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus   '      ^^^^     ^Emilia, 

Antipholus  OF  Syracuse  j      ^^^^     unknown 

[      to  each  other. 
Balthazar,  a  Merchant. 
Angelo,  a  Goldsmith. 

A  Merchant, /'7V//'^//6'  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Pinch,  a  Schoolmaster  afid  a  Conjurer. 

„  \  Wife    to    ^Egeon,  an    Abbess    at 

Emilia    -^      Ephesus. 
Adriana,  Wife  to  Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Luciana,  her  Sister. 
Luce,  her  Ser'cant. 
A  Courtesan. 

Gaoler,  Officers,  and  other  Attendants. 

Scene,  Ephesus. 


The   Comedy  of  Errors 

ACT    I 

Scene  I.  —  Enter  the  Duke  of  Ephesus,  zvith  the 
Merchant  of  Syracuse,  Gaoler,  and  other  at- 
tendants. 

MERCHANT.  Proceed,  Solinus,  to  procure  my 
fall, 
And,  by  the  doom  of  death,  end  woes  and  all. 
Duke.   Merchant  of  Syracuse,  plead  no  more ; 
I  am  not  partial  to  infringe  our  laws : 
The  enmity  and  discord  which  of  late 
Sprung  from  the  rancorous  outrage  of  your  duke 
To  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen, — 
Who,  wanting  guilders  to  redeem  their  lives, 
Have  seal'd  his  rigorous  statutes  with  their  bloods, 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threat'ning  looks. 
For,  since  the  mortal  and  intestine  jars 
'Twixt  thy  seditious  countrymen  and  us, 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  been  decreed. 
Both  by  the  Syracusans  and  ourselves. 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns  : 
Nay,  more,  if  any,  born  at  Ephesus, 
Be  seen  at  any  Syracusan  marts  and  fairs, 
Again,   If  any,  Syracusan  born. 
Come  to  the  bay  of  Ephesus,  he  dies, 
His  goods  confiscate  to  the  duke's  dispose ; 
Unless  a  thousand  marks  be  levied, 
To  quit  the  penalty  and  to  ransom  him. 
Thy  substance,  valued  at  the  highest  rate. 


156  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Cannot  amount  unto  a  hundred  marks  ; 
Therefore  by  law  thou  art  condemn'd  to  die. 

Mer.  Yet    this   my  comfort ;    when  your  words  are 
done, 
My  woes  end  Hkewise  with  the  evening  sun. 

Diike.  Well,  Syracusan,  say,  in  brief,  the  cause 
Why  thou  departedst  from  thy  native  home  ; 
And  for  what  cause  thou  cam'st  to  Ephesus  ? 

Mer.  A  heavier  task  could  not  have  been  impos'd. 
Than  I  to  speak  my  griefs  unspeakable  : 
Yet,  that  the  world  may  witness  that  my  end 
Was  wrought  by  nature,  not  by  vile  offence, 
I'll  utter  what  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
In  Syracusa  was  I  born,  and  wed 
Unto  a  woman,  happy  but  for  me, 
And  by  me ;  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 
With  her  I  liv'd  in  joy  ;  our  wealth  increas'd. 
By  prosperous  voyages  I  often  made 
To  Epidamnum,  till  my  factor  s  death  ; 
And  the  great  care  of  goods  at  random  left, 
Drew  me  from  kind  embracements  of  my  spouse : 
From  whom  my  absence  was  not  six  months  old, 
Before  herself  (almost  at  fainting,  under 
The  pleasing  punishment  that  women  bear) 
Had  made  provision  for  her  following  me. 
And.  soon,  and  safe,  arrived  where  I  was. 
There  had  she  not  been  long,  but  she  became 
A  joyful  mother  of  two  goodly  sons  ; 
And,  which  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the  other. 
As  could  not  be  distinguish'd  but  by  names. 
That  very  hour,  and  in  the  selfsame  inn, 
A  mean  woman  was  delivered 
Of  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  both  alike : 
Those,  for  their  parents  were  exceeding  poor, 
I  bought,  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sons. 
My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys. 
Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return : 
Unwilling  I  agreed;  alas!  too  soon  we  came  aboard. 
A  league  from  Epidamnum  had  we  sail'd. 
Before  the  always  wind-obeying  deep 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  iS7 

Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 

But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hope ; 

For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  grant 

Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 

A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 

Which,  though  myself  would  gladly  have  embrac'd, 

Yet  the  incessant  weepings  of  my  wife, 

Weeping  before  for  what  she  saw  must  come, 

And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes. 

That  mourn'd  for  fashion,  ignorant  what  to  fear, 

Forc'd  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  was, — for  other  means  was  none, — 

The  sailors  sought  for  safety  by  our  boat. 

And  left  the  ship,  then  sinking  ripe,  to  us  : 

My  wife,  more  careful  for  the  latter-born. 

Had  fasten'd  him  unto  a  small  spare  mast. 

Such  as  seafaring  men  provide  for  storms  ; 

To  him  one  of  the  other  twins  was  bound. 

Whilst  I  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other. 

The  children  thus  dispos'd,  my  wife  and  I, 

Fixing  our  eyes  on  whom  our  care  was  fix'd, 

Fasten'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  mast ; 

And  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream. 

Were  carried  towards  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 

At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upon  the  earth, 

Dispers'd  those  vapours  that  offended  us  ; 

And,  by  the  benefit  of  his  wished  light. 

The  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  we  discovered 

Two  ships  from  far  making  amain  to  us  ; 

Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this : 

But  ere  they  came — oh,  let  me  say  no  more  ! 

Gather  the  sequel  by  that  went  before. 

Duke.  Nay,  forward,  old  man,  do  not  break  off  so  ; 
For  we  may  pity,  though  not  pardon  thee. 

Mer.  Oh,  had  the  gods  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  merciless  to  us  ! 
For,  ere  the  ships  could  meet  by  twice  five  leagues. 
We  were  encountered  by  a  mighty  rock  ; 
Which  being  violently  borne  up. 
Our  helpful  ship  was  splitted  in  the  midst. 


158  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

So  that,  in  this  unjust  divorce  of  us, 

Fortune  had  left  to  both  of  us  ahke 

What  to  dehght  in,  what  to  sorrow  for. 

Her  part,  poor  soul  !  seeming  as  burdened 

With  lesser  weight,  but  not  with  lesser  woe. 

Was  carried  with  more  speed  before  the  wind  ; 

And  in  our  sight  they  three  were  taken  up 

By  fishermen  of  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 

At  length,  another  ship  had  seiz'd  on  us  ; 

And,  knowing  whom  it  was  their  hap  to  save, 

Gave  healthful  welcome  to  their  shipwreck'd  guests  ; 

And  would  have  reft  the  fishers  of  their  prey. 

Had  not  their  bark  been  very  slow  of  sail. 

And  therefore  homeward  did  they  bend  their  course. — 

Thus  have  you  heard  me  sever'd  from  my  bliss  ; 

That  by  misfortunes  was  my  life  prolong'd, 

To  tell  sad  stories  of  my  own  mishaps. 

Duke.   And,  for  the  sake   of  them   thou   sorrowest 
for. 
Do  me  the  favour  to  dilate  at  full 
W^hat  hath  befall'n  of  them  and  thee  till  now. 

Mer.  My  youngest  boy,  and  yet  my  eldest  care. 
At  eighteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother ;  and  importun'd  me 
That  his  attendant  (so  his  case  was  like. 
Reft  of  his  brother,  but  retain'd  his  name) 
Might  bear  him  company  in  the  quest  of  him : 
Whom  whilst  I  labour'd  of  a  love  to  see, 
I  hazarded  the  loss  of  whom  I  lov'd. 
Five  summers  have  I  spent  in  farthest  Greece, 
Roaming  clean  through  the  bounds  of  Asia, 
And,  coasting  homeward,  came  to  Ephesus ; 
Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loath  to  leave  unsought. 
Or  that,  or  any  place  that  harbours  men. 
But  here  must  end  the  story  of  my  life ; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  timely  death. 
Could  all  my  travels  warrant  me  they  live. 

Djikc.   Hapless  ^geon,  whom  the  fates  have  mark'd 
To  bear  the  extremity  of  dire  mishap  ! 
Now  trust  me,  were  it  not  against  our  laws. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  159 

Against  my  crown,  my  oath,  my  dignity. 
Which  princes,  would  they,  may  not  disannul, 
My  soul  should  sue  as  advocate  for  thee. 
But,  though  thou  art  adjudged  to  the  death, 
And  passed  sentence  may  not  be  recall'd. 
But  to  our  honour's  great  disparagement. 
Yet  will  I  favour  thee  in  what  I  can  : 
Therefore,  merchant,  I'll  limit  thee  this  day 
To  seek  thy  help  by  beneficial  help : 
Try  all  the  friends  thou  hast  in  Ephesus ; 
Beg  thou,  or  borrow,  to  make  up  the  sum. 
And  live ;  if  not,  then  thou  art  doomed  to  die. — 
Gaoler,  take  him  to  thy  custody. 

Gaol.   I  will,  my  lord. 

Mer.   Hopeless  and  helpless  doth  ^^geon  wend, 
But  to  procrastinate  his  lifeless  end.  \_Exeiiut. 

Scene    II. — Enter  Antipholus    Erotes,  a    Merchant, 

and  Dromio. 

E.  Aler.  Therefore,  give  out  you  are  of  Epidamnum, 
Lest  that  your  goods  too  soon  be  confiscate. 
This  very  day  a  Syracusan  merchant 
Is  apprehended  for  arrival  here; 
And,  not  being  able  to  buy  out  his  life, 
According  to  the  statute  of  the  town. 
Dies  ere  the  weary  sun  set  in  the  west. 
There  is  your  money  that  I  had  to  keep. 

A71L  Go,  bear  it  to  the  Centaur,  where  we  host, 
And  stay  there,  Dromio,  till  I  come  to  thee. 
Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time: 
Till  that,  rU  view  the  manners  of  the  town, 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings, 
And  then  return,  and  sleep  within  mine  inn  ; 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  stiff  and  weary. 
Get  thee  away. 

Dro.  Many  a  man  would  take  you  at  your  word, 
And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean. 

[^Exit  Dromio. 

AnL  A  trusty  villain,  sir;  that  very  oft, 


i6o  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

When  I. am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy, 
Lightens  my  humour  with  his  merry  jests. 
What,  will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  town. 
And  then  go  to  my  inn,  and  dine  with  me  ? 

E.  Mer.  I  am  invited,  sir,  to  certain  merchants, 
Of  whom  I  hope  to  make  much  benefit ; 
I  crave  your  pardon.     Soon,  at  five  o'clock, 
Please  you,  I'll  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart. 
And  afterwards  consort  you  till  bedtime ; 
My  present  business  calls  me  froni  you  now. 

Ant.  Farewell  till  then  :   I  will  go  lose  myself, 
And  wander  up  and  down  to  view  the  city. 

E.  Mer.  Sir,  I  commend  you  to  your  own  content. 

\_Excunt. 

Ant.   He  that  commends  me  to  mine  own  content, 
Commends  me  to  the  thing  I  cannot  get. 
I  to  the  world  am  like  a  drop  of  water, 
That  in  the  ocean  seeks  another  drop, 
Who  failing  there  to  find  his  fellow  forth, 
Unseen,  inquisitive,  confounds  himself: 
So  I,  to  find  a  mother  and  a  brother. 
In  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose  myself. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

Here  comes  the  almanac  of  my  true  date. — 

What  now  ?      How  chance  thou  art  return'd  so  soon  ? 

E.  Dro.  Return'd   so    soon !    rather   approach'd    too 
late : 
The  capon  burns,  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit ; 
The  clock  has  strucken  twelve  upon  the  bell ; 
My  mistress  made  it  one  upon  my  cheek: 
She  is  so  hot  because  the  meat  is  cold; 
The  meat  is  cold  because  you  come  not  home ; 
You  come  not  home  because  you  have  no  stomach ; 
You  have  no  stomach,  having  broke  your  fast ; 
But  we,  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray. 
Are  penitent  for  your  default  to-day. 

Ant.  Stop  in  your  wind,  sir;  tell  me  this,  I  pray: 
Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  I  gave  you  ? 


Plate  20 
■GO   BEAF^    IT  TO  THE  CENTAUR" 

The  Comedy  of  Error*;,  act  i.,  scene  ii. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  i6i 

E.  Dro.  Oh,  —  sixpence,  that   I   had   o'  Wednesday 
last, 
To  pay  the  saddler  for  my  mistress'  crupper, — 
The  saddler  had  it,  sir ;   I  kept  it  not. 

Ant.   I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now : 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money? 
We  being  strangers  here,  how  dar'st  thou  trust 
So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody  ? 

E.  Dro.   I  pray  you  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner. 
I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post ; 
If  I  return,  I  shall  be  post  indeed ; 
For  she  will  score  your  fault  upon  my  pate. 
Methinks  your  maw,  like  mine,  should  be  your  clock. 
And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger. 

Ant.  Come,  Dromio,  come;   these  jests   are  out  of 
season; 
Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this. 
Where  is  the  gold  I  gave  in  charge  to  thee  ? 

E.  Dro.  To  me,  sir.?     Why,  you  gave  no  gold  to  me. 

Ant.  Come  on,  sir  knave,  have  done  your  foolishness. 
And  tell  me  how  thou  hast  disposed  thy  charge. 

E.  Dro.  My  charge  was  but  to  fetch  you  from  the  mart 
Home  to  your  house  the  Phoenix,  sir,  to  dinner ; 
My  mistress  and  her  sister  stay  for  you. 

Ant.  Now,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  answer  me, 
In  what  safe  place  you  have  bestow'd  my  money  ; 
Or  I  shall  break  that  merry  sconce  of  yours, 
That  stands  on  tricks  when  I  am  undisposed : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  hadst  of  me  ? 

E.  Dro.  I  have  some  marks  of  yours  upon  my  pate, 
Some  of  my  mistress'  marks  upon  my  shoulders. 
But  not  a  thousand  marks  between  you  both. — 
If  I  should  pay  your  worship  those  again, 
Perchance  you  will  not  bear  them  patiently. 

Ant.  Thy  mistress'  marks  !  what  mistress,  slave,  hast 
thou  } 

E.  Dro.  Your   worship's  wife,   my   mistress    at    the 
Phoenix ; 
She  that  doth  fast  till  you  come  home  to  dinner. 
And  prays  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dinner. 


1 62  COMEDIES  OE  SHAKESPEARE 

Ant.  What,  wilt  thou  flout  me  thus  unto  my  face, 
Being  forbid  ?     There,  take  you  that,  sir  knave. 

E.  Dro.  What  mean  you,  sir  ?  for  God's  sake,  hold 
your  hands ; 
Nay,  and  you  will  not,  sir,  I'll  take  my  heels. 

\_Exit  E.  Dromio. 

Aiit.  Upon  my  life,  by  some  device  or  other. 
The  villain  is  o'erwrought  of  all  my  money. 
They  say  this  town  is  full  of  cozenage : 
As  nimble  jugglers,  that  deceive  the  eye ; 
Dark-working  sorcerers,  that  change  the  mind ; 
Soul-killing  witches,  that  deform  the  body; 
Disguised  cheaters,  prating  mountebanks, 
And  many  such  like  liberties  of  sin. 
If  it  prove  so,  I  will  be  gone  the  sooner. 
I'll  to  the  Centaur,  to  go  seek  this  slave ; 
I  greatly  fear  my  money  is  not  safe.  \^Exit. 

ACT   II 

Scene   I. — Enter  Adriana,  wife  to  Antipholis  Serep- 
Tus,  ivith  LuciANiA,  her  sister. 

Adr.  Neither  my  husband  nor  the  slave  return'd, 
That  in  such  haste  I  sent  to  seek  his  master  ? 
Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 

Ltie.  Perhaps  some  merchant  hath  invited  him. 
And  from  the  mart  he's  somewhere  gone  to  dinner. 
Good  sister,  let  us  dine,  and  never  fret ; 
A  man  is  master  of  his  liberty. 
Time  is  their  master ;  and  when  they  see  time. 
They'll  go  or  come  ;  if  so,  be  patient,  sister. 

Adr.  Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more  ? 

Luc.  Because  their  business  still  lies  out  o'  doors. 

Adr.  Look,  when  I  serve  him  so,  he  takes  it  thus. 

L21C.  Oh,  know,  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  will. 

Adr.  There's  none  but  asses  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luc.  Why,  headstrong  liberty  is  lash'd  with  woe. 
There's  nothing  situate  under  Heaven's  eye 
But  hath  his  bound  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  sky. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  163 

The  beasts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winsred  fowls. 
Are  their  males'  subjects,  and  at  their  controls: 
Man,  more  divine,  the  master  of  all  these. 
Lord  of  the  wide  world,  and  wild  watery  seas. 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  and  fowls. 
Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords : 
Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 

Adr.  This  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed. 

Luc.  Not  this,  but  troubles  of  the  marriage-bed. 

Adr.  But,  were  you  wedded,  you  would  bear  some 
sway. 

Luc.  Ere  I  learn  love,  I'll  practise  to  obey. 

Adr.  How  if  your  husband  start  some  other  where  ? 

Ltic.  Till  he  come  home  again,  I  would  forbear. 

Adr.  Patience  unmov'd,  no  marvel  though  she  pause  ; 
They  can  be  meek  that  have  no  other  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruis'd  with  adversity. 
We  bid  be  quiet,  when  we  hear  it  cry; 
But  were  we  burdened  with  like  weight  of  pain. 
As  much,  or  more,  we  should  ourselves  complain. 
So  thou,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee. 
With  urging  helpless  patience  would'st  relieve  me ; 
But,  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft. 
This  fool-begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  left. 

Liic.  Well,  I  will  marry  one  day,  but  to  try  — 
Here  comes  your  man,  now  is  your  husband  nigh. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

Adr.  Say,  is  your  tardy  master  now  at  hand  ? 

E.  Dro.  Nay,  he's  at  two  hands  with  me,  and  that 
my  two  ears  can  witness. 

Adr.  Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him }  know'st  thou 
his  mind  '^. 

E.  Dro.  Ay,  ay,  he  told  his  mind  upon  mine  ear. 
Beshrew  his  hand,  I  scarce  could  understand  it. 

Luc.  Spake  he  so  doubtfully  thou  couldst  not  feel 
his  meaning? 

E.  Dro.  Nay,  he  struck  so  plainly  I  could  too  well 


1 64  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

feel  his  blows ;  and  withal  so  doubtfully  that  I  could 
scarce  understand  them. 

Adr.  But  say,  I  prithee,  is  he  coming  home  ? 
It  seems  he  hath  great  care  to  please  his  wife. 

E.  Dro.  Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn-mad. 

Adr.  Horn-mad,  thou  villain  ? 

E.  Dro.  I  mean  not  cuckold  -  mad. 
But  sure  he's  stark-mad. 
When  I  desir'd  him  to  come  home  to  dinner, 
He  ask'd  me  for  a  hundred  marks  in  gold. 
'  Tis  dinner-time,  quoth  I ;  My  gold,  quoth  he. 
Yoiir  meat  doth  burn,  quoth  I;  My  gold,  quoth  he. 
Will  you  come  ?  quoth  I ;  My  gold,  quoth  he. 
JV/ie7^e  is  the  thousaiid  marks  I  gave  thee,  villain  ? 
The  pig,  quoth  I,  is  buinid;  My  gold,  quoth  he. 
My  mistress,  sir,  quoth  I ;  Hang  up  thy  mistress  ; 
I  know  7iot  thy  mistress ;  out  on  thy  mistress  I 

Luc.  Quoth  who  t 

E.  Di'o.  Quoth  my  master :  /  knoiv,  quoth  he,  no 
house,  no  wife,  no  mistress ;  so  that  my  errand,  due  unto 
my  tongue,  I  thank  him,  I  bear  home  upon  my  shoul- 
ders ;  for,  in  conclusion,  he  did  beat  me  there. 

Adr.  Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him  home. 

E.  Dro.  Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home } 
For  God's  sake,  send  some  other  messenger. 

Adr.  Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  pate  across. 

E.  Dro.  And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other 
beating.     Between  you  I  shall  have  a  holy  head. 

Adr.  Hence,  prating  peasant ;  fetch  thy  master  home. 

E.  Dro.  Am  I  so  round  with  you,  as  you  with  me, 
That  like  a  football  you  do  spurn  me  thus } 
You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  me  hither : 
If  I  last  in  this  service,  you  must  case  me  in  leather. 

Liu.  Fie,  how  impatience  lowereth  in  your  face. 

Adr.  His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace, 
Whilst  I  at  home  starve  for  a  merry  look. 
Hath  homely  age  the  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  cheek }  then  he  hath  wasted  it.         • 
Are  my  discourses  dull }  barren  my  wit  1 
If  voluble  and  sharp  discourse  be  marr'd, 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  165 

Unkindness  blunts  it  more  than  marble  hard. 
Do  their  gay  vestments  his  affections  bait  ? 
That's  not  my  fault,  he's  master  of  my  state. 
What  ruins  are  in  me,  that  can  be  found 
By  him  not  ruin'd  ?  then  is  he  the  ground 
Of  my  defeatures.     My  decayed  fair 
A  sunny  look  of  his  would  soon  repair; 
But,  too  unruly  deer,  he  breaks  the  pale, 
And  feeds  from  home ;  poor  I  am  but  his  stale. 

Luc.  Self-harming  jealousy! — fie,  beat  it  hence. 

Adr.  Unfeelins:   fools    can    with    such    wrongs    dis- 
pense. 
I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  otherwhere. 
Else,  what  lets  it  but  he  would  be  here  ? 
Sister,  you  know,  he  promised  me  a  chain ; 
Would  that  alone,  alone  he  would  detain. 
So  he  would  keep  fair  quarter  with  his  bed ! 
I  see  the  jewel  best  enamelled 
Will  lose  his  beauty  ;  yet  the  gold  'bides  still 
That  others  touch,  yet  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold :  and  no  man  that  hath  a  name 
By  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 
Since  that  my  beauty  cannot  please  his  eye, 
ril  weep  what's  left  away,  and  weeping  die. 

L21C.  How  many  fond  fools  serve  mad  jealousy ! 

\^Exit. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Antipholus  Erotes. 

Ant.  The  gold  I  gave  to  Dromio  is  laid  up 
Safe  at  the  Centaur ;  and  the  heedful  slave 
Is  wander'd  forth,  in  care  to  seek  me  out 
By  computation,  and  mine  host's  report. 
I  could  not  speak  with  Dromio,  since  at  first 
I  sent  him  from  the  mart.    See,  here  he  comes. — 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

How  now,  sir  ?  is  your  merry  humour  alter'd } 
As  you  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 
You  know  no  Centaur }  you  received  no  gold } 


1 66  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Your  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner  ? 
My  house  was  at  the  Phoenix  ?  Wast  thou  mad, 
That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 

kS.  Dro.  What  answer,  sir  ?  when  spake  I  such  a 
word  ? 

Ant.  Even  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour  since. 

6^.  Dro.  I  did  not  see  you  since  you  sent  me  hence 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 

Ant.  Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  receipt ; 
And  told'st  me  of  a  mistress,  and  a  dinner; 
For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeas'd. 

kS.  Dro.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein. 
What  means  this  jest.?   I  pray  you,  master,  tell  me. 

Ant.  Yea,  dost  thou  jeer  and  flout  me  in  the  teeth  } 
Think'st  thou  I  jest  ?   Hold,  take  thou  that  and  that. 

\Beats  Dromio. 

kS.  Dro.  Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake :    now  your  jest  is 
earnest. 
Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  .'' 

Ant.  Because  that  I  familiarly  sometimes 
Do  use  you  for  my  fool,  and  chat  with  you, 
Your  sauciness  will  jest  upon  my  love, 
And  make  a  common  of  my  serious  hours. 
When  the  sun  shines,  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport, 
But  creep  in  crannies  when  he  hides  his  beams. 
If  you  will  jest  with  me,  know  my  aspect. 
And  fashion  your  demeanour  to  my  looks, 
Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 

S.  Dro.  Sconce  call  you  it  ?  so  you  would  leave  bat- 
tering, I  had  rather  have  it  a  head ;  and  you  use  these 
blows  long,  I  must  get  a  sconce  for  my  head,  and  in- 
sconce  it  too,  or  else  I  shall  seek  my  wit  in  my  shoul- 
ders.    But  I  pray,  sir,  why  am  I  beaten  1 

Ant.  Dost  thou  not  know.^* 

S.  Dro.  Nothing,  sir,  but  that  I  am  beaten. 

Ant.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  t 

S.  Dro.  Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore ;  for,  they  say,  every 
why  hath  a  wherefore. 

Ant.  Why,  first — for  flouting  me ;  and  then  where- 
fore— for  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  167 

6^.  Dro.  Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten  out  of 
season  ? 
When,  in  the  why,  and  the  wherefore,  is  neither  rhyme 
nor  reason  ? 

Well,  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Ant.  Thank  me,  sir?  for  what? 

S.  Dro.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something  that  you  gave 
me  for  nothing. 

Ant.  I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you  nothmg 
for  something.      But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner-time  ? 

5^.  Dro.  No,  sir;  I  think  the  meat  wants  that  I  have. 

Ant.  In  good  time,  sir,  what's  that? 

S.  Dro.  Basting. 

Ant.  Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

S.  Dro.  If  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  Your  reason? 

S.  Dro.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric,  and  purchase  me 
another  dry  basting. 

Ant.  Well,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time.     There's  a 
time  for  all  things. 

6^.  Dro.  I  durst  have  denied  that,  before  you  were  so 
choleric. 

Ant.  By  what  rule,  sir  ? 

^.  Dro.  Marry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the  plain 
bald  pate  of  Father  Time  himself. 

Ant.  Let's  hear  it. 

S.  Dro.  There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his 
hair  that  grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant.  Mav  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery  ? 

6^.  Dro.  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  periwig,  and  recover 
the  lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Ant.  Why  is  Time  such  a  niggard  of  hair,  being,  as 
it  is,  so  plentiful  an  excrement  ? 

6^.  Dro.  Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows  on 
beasts ;  and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair,  he  hath 
given  them  in  wit. 

A7it.  Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more  hair 
than  wit. 

6^.  Dro.  Not  a  man  of  those  but  he  hath  the  wit  to 
lose  his  hair. 


1 68  COMEDIES   OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ant.  Why,  thou  didst  conclude  hairy  men  plain 
dealers  without  wit. 

6^.  Dro.  The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost ;  yet  he 
loseth  it  in  a  kind  of  jollity. 

Ant.  For  what  reason  } 

S.  Dro.  For  two ;  and  sound  ones,  too. 

Ant.  Nay,  not  sound,  I  pray  you. 

S.  Dro.  Sure  ones,  then. 

Ant.  Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falsing. 

6".  Dro.  Certain  ones  then. 

A7it.  Name  them. 

S.  Dro.  The  one,  to  save  the  money  that  he  spends 
in  trying;  the  other,  that  at  dinner  they  should  not 
drop  in  his  porridge. 

Ant.  You  would  all  this  time  have  proved,  there  is 
no  time  for  all  things. 

.S'.  Dro.  Marry,  and  did,  sir;  namely,  e'en  no  time  to 
recover  hair  lost  by  nature. 

Ant.  But  your  reason  was  not  substantial,  why  there 
is  no  time  to  recover. 

S.  Dro.  Thus  I  mend  it.  Time  himself  is  bald,  and 
therefore,  to  the  world's  end,  will  have  bald  followers. 

Ant.  I  knew  'twould  be  a  bald  conclusion.  But 
soft!  who  wafts  us  yonder? 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 

Adr.  Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange  and  frown. 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects. 
I  am  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wife. 

The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unurg'd  would'st  vow, 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear, 
That  never  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye. 
That  never  touch  well  welcome  to  thy  hand. 
That  never  meat  sweet-savour'd  in  thy  taste. 
Unless  I  spake,  or  look'd,  or  touch'd,  or  carv'd  to  thee. 
How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  oh,  how  comes  it. 
That  thou  art  then  estranged  from  thyself } 
Thyself  I  call  it,  being  strange  to  me. 
That,  undividable,  incorporate, 


Plate  21 
\iAT   MEAiN    YOU,  SIR?" 

'J^hPniedy  of  Errors,  ad  J.,  .scene  ii. 


"    7: 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  169 

Am  better  than  thy  dear  self's  better  part. 

Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me ; 

For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  may'st  thou  fall 

A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulf, 

And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again, 

Without  addition  or  diminishinQ^ 

As  take  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 

How  dearly  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 

Shouldst  thou  but  hear  I  were  licentious  1 

And  that  this  body,  consecrate  to  thee, 

By  ruffian  lust  should  be  contaminate  ? 

Wouldst  thou  not  spit  at  me,  and  spurn  at  me, 

And  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face, 

And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  off  my  harlot  brow. 

And  from  my  false  hand  cut  the  wedding-ring, 

And  break  it  with  a  deep  divorcing  vow } 

I  know  thou  canst ;  and  therefore  see  thou  do  it. 

I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot ; 

Mv  blood  is  mino^led  with  the  crime  of  lust. 

For,  if  we  two  be  one,  and  thou  play  false, 

I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  flesh. 

Being  strumpeted  by  thy  contagion. 

Keep  then  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed; 

I  live  distain'd  thou  undishonoured. 

Ant.  Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ?     I  know  you  not. 
In  Ephesus  I  am  but  two  hours  old, 
As  strange  unto  your  town  as  to  your  talk ; 
Who,  every  word  by  all  my  wit  being  scann'd, 
Want  wit  in  all  one  word  to  understand. 

Luc.  Fie,  brother!    how  the  world   is   chang'd  with 
you. 
When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  '^. 
She  sent  for  you  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 

Ant.  By  Dromio  .f' 

6^.  Dj'o.  By  me  ? 

Adr.  By  thee,  and  this  thou  didst  return  from  him. 
That  he  did  buffet  thee,  and,  in  his  blows, 
Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 

Ant.  Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentlewoman } 
What  is  the  course  and  drift  of  your  compact } 


lyo 


COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 


S.  Dro.  I,  sir?     I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

AiiL  Villain,  thou  liest;  for  even  her  very  words 
Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

S.  Dro.  I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  my  life. 

Ant.  How  can  she  thus  then  call  us  by  our  names, 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration  ? 

Adr.  How  ill  agrees  it  with  your  gravity 
To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave, 
Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood ; 
Be  it  my  wrong,  you  are  from  me  exempt. 
But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine ; 
Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I  a  vine 
Whose  weakness,  married  to  thy  stranger  state, 
Makes  me  with  thy  strength  to  communicate. 
If  aught  possess  thee  from  me,  it  is  dross, 
Usurping  ivy,  brier,  or  idle  moss, 
Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intrusion 
Infect  thy  sap,  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 

Aiit.  To  me  she   speaks;    she   moves  me  for  her 
theme ; 
What,  was  I  married  to  her  in  my  dream } 
Or  sleep  I  now,  and  think  I  hear  all  this } 
W' hat  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss  ? 
Until  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty, 
I'll  entertain  the  offer'd  fallacy. 

Lnc.  Dromio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for  dinner. 

6".  Dro.  Oh,  for  my  beads !     I  cross  me  for  a  sinner. 
This  is  the  fairy  land — Oh,  spite  of  spites ! 
We  talk  with  goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites ; 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue : 
They'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

Ltic.  Why  prat'st  thou  to  thyself,  and  answer'st  not .? 
Dromio,  thou  Dromio,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou  sot. 

S.  Dro.  I  am  transformed,  master,  am  I  not } 

Ant.  I  think  thou  art  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

6^.  Di'o.  Nay,  master,  both  in  mind  and  in  my  shape. 

Ant.  Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

S.  Dro.  No,  I  am  an  ape. 

Luc.  If  thou  art  chang'd  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  ass. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  171 

S.  Dro.  'Tis  true  she  rides  me,  and  I  long  for  grass. 
'Tis  so,  I  am  an  ass ;  else  it  could  never  be 
But  I  should  know  her  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 

Adr.  Come,  come,  no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool, 
To  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep. 
Whilst  man  and  master  laugh  my  woes  to  scorn. 
Come,  sir,  to  dinner;   Dromio,  keep  the  gate. 
Husband,  I'll  dine  above  with  you  to  day. 
And  shrive  3'ou  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks. 
Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master, 
Say  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter. — 
Come,  sister. — Dromio,  play  the  porter  well. 

A7it.  Am  I  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell } 
Sleeping  or  waking  ?  mad,  or  well  advis'd  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguis'd, 
I'll  say  as  they  say,  and  persevere  so. 
And  in  this  mist  at  all  adventures  go. 

S.  Dro.  Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate } 

Adr.  Ay  ;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your  pate. 

Luc.  Come,  come,  Antipholus,  we  dine  too  late. 

ACT  III 

Scene  I. — Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  his  man 
Dromio,  Angelo  the  Goldsmith^  and  Balthazar 
the  Merchant. 

E.  Ant.  Good  Signior  Angelo,  you  must  excuse  us  all : 
My  wife  is  shrewish  when  I  keep  not  hours. 
Say  that  I  linger'd  with  you  at  your  shop 
To  see  the  making  of  her  carkanet, 
And  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home. 
But  here's  a  villain  that  would  face  me  down ; 
He  met  me  on  the  mart ;  and  that  I  beat  him. 
And  charg'd  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold ; 
And  that  I  did  deny  my  wife  and  house. 
Thou  drunkard,  thou,  what  didst  thou  mean  by  this  ? 

E.  Dro.  Say  what  you  will,  sir,  but   I   know  what  I 
know, 
That  you   beat  me  at  the  mart,  I  have  your  hand  to 
show; 


172  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

If  the  skin  were  parchment,  and    the   blows  you   gave 

were  ink, 
Your  own  handwriting  would  tell  you  what  I  think. 
E.  Ant.  I  think  thou  art  an  ass. 
E.  Dro.  Marry,  so  it  doth  appear 
By  the  wrongs  I  suffer  and  the  blows  I  bear. 
I  should  kick,  being  kick'd;  and,  being  at  that  pass, 
You  should  keep  from  my  heels,  and  beware  of  an  ass. 
E.  Ant.  You  are  sad,  Signior  Balthazar.     Pray  God 
our  cheer 
May   answer  my  good  will,  and  your  good   welcome 
here. 
Bat.  I  hold  your  dainties  cheap,  sir,  and  your  welcome 

dear. 
E.  Ant.  Oh,  Signior  Balthazar,  either  at  f^esh  or  fish, 
A  table  full  of  welcome  makes  scarce  one  dainty  dish. 
Bal.  Good  meat,  sir,  is   common;    that  every  churl 

affords. 
E.  Ant.  And    welcome    more    common ;    for    that's 

nothing  but  words. 
Bal.  Small  cheer,  and  great  welcome,  makes  a  merry 

feast. 
E.  Ant.  Ay,  to  a  niggardly  host,  and  more  sparing 
guest ; 
But  though  my  cates  be  mean,  take  them  in  good  part ; 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  with  better  heart. 
But  soft ;  my  door  is  lock'd.     Go  bid  them  let  us  in. 
E.  Dro.  Maud,    Bridget,     Marian,    Cicely,    Gillian, 

Jem ! 
S.  Dro.  Mome,    malt-horse,    capon,   coxcomb,    idiot, 
patch ! 
Either  get  thee  from  the  door,  or  sit  down  at  the  hatch. 
Dost  thou   conjure    for  wenches,  that  thou  call'st  for 

such  store. 
When  one  is  one  too  many }     Go,  get  thee  from  the 
door. 
E.  Dro.  What    patch    is    made    our    porter  ?      My 

master  stays  in  the  street. 
6^.  Dro.  Let   him  walk  from  whence  he  came,  lest 
he  catch  cold  on's  feet. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  I73 

E.  Ant,  Who    talks    within    there?    ho,    open    the 

door. 
kS.  Dro.  Right,  sir,  I'll  tell  you    when,  an  you'll  tell 

me  wherefore. 
E.  Ant.  Wherefore?    for   my    dinner;    I    have    not 

din'd  to-day. 
S.  Dro.  Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not;  come  again, 

when  you  may. 
E.  Ant.  What  art  thou,  that  keep'st   me   out  from 

the  house  I  owe  ? 
S.  Dro.  The  porter  for  this  time,  sir,  and  my  name 

is  Dromio. 
E.  Dro.  O  villain,  thou  hast  stolen  both  mine  ofifice 

and  my  name ; 
The  one  ne'er  got  me  credit,  the  other  mickle  blame. 
If  thou  had'st  been  Dromio  to-day  in  my  place, 
Thou  would'st  have  chang'd  thy  face  for  a  name,  or  thy 

name  for  an  ass. 


Enter  Luce. 

Luce.  What  a  coil  is  there,  Dromio  ?  who  are  those 

at  the  gate  ? 
E.  Dro.  Let  my  master  in.  Luce. 
Luce.  Faith,  no;  he  comes  too  late,  and  so  tell  your 

master. 
E.  Dro.  O  Lord,  I  must  laugh : 
Have  at  you  with  a  proverb. — Shall  I  set  in  my  staff  ? 
Luce.  Have    at  you   with    another:    that's — When? 

can  you  tell  ? 
S.  Dro.  If  thy  name  be  call'd  Luce,  Luce  thou  hast 

answer'd  him  well. 
E.  Ant.  Do  you  hear,  you  minion?  you'll  let  us  in, 

I  hope  ? 
Luce.   I  thought  to  have  ask'd  you. 
S.  Dro.  And  you  said  no. 
E.  Dro.  So,    come,    help;   well    struck;   there    was 

blow  for  blow. 
E.  Ant.  Thou  baggage,  let  me  in. 
Luce.  Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake  ? 


174  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

E.  Dro.  Master,  knock  the  door  hard. 

Luce.  Let  him  knock  till  it  ache. 

E.  Ant.  You'll    cry  for    this,  minion,  if   I   beat  the 

door  down. 
Luce.  What  needs  all  that,  and  a  pair  of  stocks  in  the 

town  } 

Enter  Adrian  a. 

Adr.  Who   is  that  at  the  door,  that  keeps  all  this 

noise  1 
S.  Dro.  By  my   troth,  your    town    is   troubled   with 

unruly  boys. 
E.  Ant.  Are  you  there,  wife  ?  you  might  have  come 

before. 
Adr.  Your  wife,  sir  knave  1    go,  get  you  from  the 

door. 
E.  Dro.  If   you    went    in    pain,  master,   this    knave 

would  go  sore. 
Ang.  Here   is  neither  cheer,  sir,  nor   welcome;  we 

would  fain  have  either. 
Bal.  In  debating  which  was  best,  we  shall  part  with 

neither. 
E.  Dro.  They  stand  at  the  door,  master;  bid  them 

welcome  hither. 
E.  Ant.  There  is  something   in   the  wind,  that  we 

cannot  oret  in. 
E.  Dro.  You  would  say  so,  master,  if  your  garments 

were  thin. 
Your  cake  here  is  warm  within ;  you  stand  here  in  the 

cold. 
It  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck,  to  be  so  bought 

and  sold. 
E.  Ant.  Go, fetch  me  something;   Til  break  ope  the 

gate. 
S.  Dro.  Break  any  breaking  here  and  I'll  break  your 

knave's  pate. 
E.  Dro.  A   man  may  break  a  word   with   you,  sir; 

and  words  are  but  wind. 
Ay,  and  break  it  in  your  face,  so  he  break  it  not  be- 
hind. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  175 

6^.  Dro.  It  seems  thou  wantest  breaking;  out  upon 
thee,  hind ! 

E.  Dro.  Here's  too  much  out  upon   thee!     I  pray 
thee,  let  me  in. 

kS.  Dro.  Ay,  when  fowls  have  no  feathers,  and  fish 
have  no  fin. 

E.  Ani.  Well,  111  break  in  ;  go  borrow  me  a  crow. 

^.  Dro.  A  crow  without  feather ;  master,  mean  you 
so  ? 
For  a  fish  without  a  fin,  there's  a  fowl  without  a  feather: 
If  a  crow  help  us  in,  sirrah,  we'll  pluck  a  crow  together. 

E.  Ant.  Go,  get  thee  gone ;  fetch  me  an  iron  crow. 

Bal.  Have  patience,  sir:  Oh,  let  it  not  be  so  : 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation, 
And  draw  within  the  compass  of  suspect 
The  unviolated  honour  of  your  wife. 
Once  this,  your  long  experience  of  your  wifedom, 
Her  sober  virtue,  years,  and  modesty. 
Plead  on  your  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown ; 
And  doubt  not,  sir,  but  she  will  well  excuse 
Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made  against  you. 
Be  rul'd  by  me ;  depart  in  patience, 
And  let  us  to  the  Tiger  all  to  dinner ; 
And,  about  evening,  come  yourself  alone,  ^ 
To  know  the  reason  of  this  strange  restraint. 
If  by  strong  hand  you  offer  to  break  in 
Now  in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day, 
A  vulgar  comment  will  be  made  of  it ; 
And  that  supposed  by  the  common  rout 
Against  your  yet  ungalled  estimation. 
That  may  with  foul  intrusion  enter  in. 
And  dwell  upon  your  grave  when  you  are  dead : 
For  slander  lives  upon  succession ; 
Forever  hous'd  where  it  gets  possession. 

E.  Ant.  You  have  prevail'd;  I  will  depart  in  quiet. 
And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse. 
Pretty  and  witty  ;  wild,  and  yet,  too,  gentle  ; 
There  will  w^e  dine  ;  this  woman  that  I  mean. 
My  wife  (but,  I  protest,  without  desert) 


176  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Hath  oftentimes  upbraided  me  withal ; 

To  her  will  we  to  dinner. — Get  you  home, 

And  fetch  the  chain  ;  by  this,  I  know,  'tis  made  : 

Bring  it,  I  pray  you,  to  the  Porpentine  ; 

For  there's  the  house  ;  that  chain  will  I  bestow 

(Be  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife) 

Upon  mine  hostess  there  ;  good  sir,  make  haste  : 

Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me, 

I'll  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me. 

Aug.  I'll  meet  you  at  that  place,  some  hour  hence. 

E.  Ant.  Do  so  ;  this  jest  shall  cost  me  some  expense. 

SJExeunt. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Luciana,  wzV/^  Antipholus  of  Syra- 
cuse. 

Luc.  And  may  it  be  that  you  have  quite  forgot 

A  husband's  office?  shall,  Antipholus, 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-strings  rot  ? 

Shall  love,  in  building,  grow  so  ruinate  t 
If  you  did  wed  my  sister  for  her  wealth, 

Then,forher  wealth's  sake,  use  herwith  more  kindness; 
Or,  if  you  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  stealth ; 

Muffle  your  false  love  with  some  show  of  blindness ; 
Let  not  my  sister  read  it  in  your  eye ; 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  own  shame's  orator, 
Look  sweet,  speak  fair,  become  disloyalty  ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue's  harbinger; 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though  your  heart  be  tainted, 

Teach  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint ; 
Be  secret-false — what  need  she  be  acquainted  1 

What  simple  thief  brags  of  his  own  attaint  t 
'Tis  double  wrong,  to  truant  with  your  bed 

And  let  her  read  it  in  thy  looks  at  board : 
Shame  hath  a  bastard  fame,  well  managed  ; 

111  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word. 
Alas,  poor  women  !  make  us  not  believe. 

Being  compact  of  credit,  that  you  love  us  ; 
Though  others  have  the  arm,  show  us  the  sleeve : 

We  in  your  motion  turn,  and  you  may  move  us. 


Plate  22 
WHY.  MISTRESS,  SURE   MY   MAS 
The  ('otnedy  of  Errors,  act  ii 


HORN-MAt) 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  177 

Then,  gentle  brother,  get  you  in  again  ; 

Comfort  my  sister,  cheer  her  ;  call  her  wife  : 
'Tis  holy  sport  to  be  a  little  vain, 

When  the  sweet  breath  of  flattery  conquers  strife. 

S.  Ant.  Sweet   mistress  (what   your  name   is  else  I 
know  not, 

Nor  by  what  wonder  do  you  hit  on  mine). 
Less,  in  your  knowledge  and  your  grace,  you  show  not, 

Than  our  earth's  wonder ;  more  than  earth  divine. 
Teach  me, dear  creature,  how  to  think  and  speak; 

Lay  open  to  my  earthy  gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feeble,  shallow,  weak. 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  words'  deceit. 
Against  my  soul's  pure  truth  why  labour  you, 

To  make  it  wander  in  an  unknown  field } 
Are  you  a  god  }  would  you  create  me  new  t 

Transform  me,  then,  and  to  your  power  I'll  yield. 
But  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  I  know. 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine. 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  homage  do  I  owe ; 

Far  more,  far  more  to  you  do  I  decline. 
Oh,  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,  with  thy  note. 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  flood  of  tears ; 
Sing,  siren,  for  thyself,  and  I  will  dote : 

Spread  o'er  the  silver  waves  thy  golden  hairs, 
And  as  a  bud  I'll  take  thee,  and  there  lie  ; 

And  in  that  glorious  supposition  think 
He  gains  by  death,  that  hath  such  means  to  die: — 

Let  love,  being  light,  be  drowned  if  she  sink  ! 

Ltic.  What,  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so? 

S.  Ant.  Not  mad,  but  mated ;  how  I  do  not  know. 

Ltic.  It  is  a  fault  that  springeth  from  your  eye. 

•5^.  A7it.  For  gazing  on  your  beams,  fair  sun,  being 
by. 

L21C.  Gaze    where    you    should,   and  that  will   clear 
your  sight. 

S.  Ant.  As   good    to  wink,  sweet  love,  as   look  on 
night. 

Luc.  Why  call  you  me  love  ?    Call  my  sister  so. 

kS.  Ant.  Thy  sister's  sister. 


178  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Liic.  That's  my  sister. 

6^.  Ant.  No. 

It  is  thyself,  mine  own  self's  better  part; 
Mine  eye's  clear  eye,  my  dear  heart's  dearer  heart; 
My  food,  my  fortune,  and  my  sweet  hope's  aim  ; 
My  sole  earth's  heaven,  and  my  heaven's  claim. 

Luc.  All  this  my  sister  is,  or  else  should  be. 

kS'.  Ant.  Call  thyself  sister,  sweet,  for  I  am  thee: 
Thee  will  I  love,  and  with  thee  lead  my  life ; 
Thou  hast  no  husband  yet,  nor  I  no  wife : 
Give  me  thy  hand, 

Luc.  Oh,  soft,  sir,  hold  you  still ; 

I'll  fetch  my  sister,  to  get  her  good-will.  \_Exit. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

S.  Ant.  Why,  how  now,  Dromio  ?  where  run'st  thou 
so  fast  ? 

S.  Dro.  Do  you  know  me,  sir }  am  I  Dromio  ?  am  I 
your  man  ?  am  I  myself  '^. 

S.  Ant.  Thou  art  Dromio,  thou  art  my  man,  thou 
art  thyself. 

6^.  Dro.  I  am  an  ass,  I  am  a  woman's  man,  and  be- 
sides myself. 

6'.  Ant.  What  woman's  man  ?  and  how  besides  thy- 
self.? 

•5".  Dro.  Marry,  sir,  besides  myself,  I  am  due  to  a 
woman:  one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haunts  me,  one 
that  will  have  me. 

6^.  Ant.  What  claim  lays  she  to  thee  ? 

6".  Dro.  Marry,  sir,  such  claim  as  you  would  lay  to 
your  horse ;  and  she  would  have  me  as  a  beast ;  not 
that,  I  being  a  beast,  she  would  have  me ;  but  that  she, 
being  a  very  beastly  creature,  lays  claim  to  me. 

6".  Ant.  What  is  she  t 

S.  Dro.  A  very  reverend  body ;  ay,  such  a  one  as  a 
man  may  not  speak  of,  without  he  say,  sir-reverence  :  I 
have  but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  and  yet  is  she  a  won- 
drous fat  marriage. 

6".  Ant.  How  dost  thou  mean,  a  fat  marriage  } 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS 


79 


6".  Dro.  Marry,  sir,  she's  the  kitchen  wench,  and  all 
grease ;  and  I  know  not  what  use  to  put  her  to,  but  to 
make  a  lamp  of  her,  and  run  from  her  by  her  own  light. 
I  warrant  her  rags  and  the  tallow  in  them  will  burn  a 
Poland  winter:  if  she  lives  till  doomsday  she'll  burn  a 
week  longer  than  the  whole  world. 

kS.  Ant.  What  complexion  is  she  oi} 

S.  Dro.  Swart,  like  my  shoe,  but  her  face  nothing 
like  so  clean  kept.  For  why }  she  sweats  ;  a  man  may 
go  over  shoes  in  the  grime  of  it. 

6'.  Ani.  That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend. 

kS.  Dro.  No,  sir,  'tis  in  grain  :  Noah's  flood  could  not 
do  it. 

6".  Aiit.  What's  her  name  } 

S.  Dro.  Nell,  sir: — but  her  name  is  three  quarters, 
that  is,  an  ell  and  three  quarters  will  not  measure  her 
from  hip  to  hip. 

S.  Ant.  Then  she  bears  some  breadth  } 

S.  Dro.  No  longer  from  head  to  foot  than  from  hip 
to  hip ;  she  is  spherical,  like  a  globe ;  I  could  find  out 
countries  in  her. 

S.  Ant.  In  what  part  of  her  body  stands  Ireland } 

S.  Dro.  Marry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks ;  I  found  it  out 
by  the  bogs. 

6".  Ant.  Where  Scotland.? 

6".  Dro.  I  found  it  by  the  barrenness ;  hard  in  the 
palm  of  her  hand. 

6^.  Ant.  Where  France  } 

S.  Dro.  In  her  forehead ;  arm'd  and  reverted,  mak- 
ing war  against  her  heir. 

kS.  Ant.  Where  England  ? 

vS".  Dro.  I  look'd  for  the  chalky  cliffs,  but  I  could  find 
no  whiteness  in  them  ;  but  I  guess  it  stood  in  her  chin, 
by  the  salt  rheum  that  ran  between  France  and  it. 

S.  A7it.  Where  Spain  t 

S.  Dro.  'Faith,  I  saw  it  not;  but  I  felt  it  hot  in  her 
breath. 

6^.  Ant.  Where  America,  the  Indies  } 

S.  Dro.  Oh,  sir,  upon  her  nose,  all  o'er  embellished 
with  rubies,  carbuncles,  sapphires,  declining  their  rich 


i8o  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

aspect  to  the  hot  breath  of  Spain ;  who  sent  whole  ar- 
madas of  carracks  to  be  ballast  at  her  nose. 

S.  Ant.  Where  stood  Belgia,  the  Netherlands  ? 

6'.  Dro.  Oh,  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  conclude, 
this  drudge,  or  diviner,  laid  claim  to  me  ;  call'd  me  Dro- 
mio,  swore  I  was  assur'd  to  her;  told  me  what  privy 
marks  I  had  about  me,  as  the  mark  on  my  shoulder,  the 
mole  in  my  neck,  the  great  wart  on  my  left  arm,  that  I, 
amazed,  ran  from  her  as  a  witch ;  and  I  think  if  my 
breast  had  not  been  made  of  faith  and  my  heart  of 
steel,  she  had  transform'd  me  to  a  curtail-dog,  and  made 
me  turn  i'  the  wheel. 

S.  Ant.  Go, hie  thee  presently,  post  to  the  road; 
And  if  the  wind  blow  any  way  from  shore, 
I  will  not  harbour  in  this  town  to-night. 
If  any  bark  put  forth,  come  to  the  mart, 
Where  I  will  walk  till  thou  return  to  me. 
If  every  one  knows  us  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  to  trudge,  pack,  and  be  gone. 

6'.  Dro.  As  from  a  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life. 
So  fiy  I  from  her  that  would  be  my  wife.  \_Exit. 

S.  Ant.  There's  none  but  witches  do  inhabit  here; 
And  therefore  'tis  hiorh  time  that  I  were  hence. 
She  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  soul 
Doth  for  a  wife  abhor  ;  but  her  fair  sister, 
Possess'd  with  such  a  gentle  sovereign  grace. 
Of  such  enchanting  presence  and  discourse, 
Hath  almost  made  me  traitor  to  myself : 
But,  lest  myself  be  guilty  to  self-wrong, 
I'll  stop  mine  ears  against  the  mermaid's  song. 

Enter  Angelo,  with  the  chain. 

Ang.  Master  Antipholus  ? 

6".  Ant.  Ay,  that's  my  name. 

Ang.  I  know  it  well,  sir:  Lo,  here  is  the  chain  ; 
I  thought  to  have  ta'en  you  at  the  Porpentine : 
The  chain  unfinish'd  made  me  stay  thus  long. 

6^.  Ant.  What  is  your  will  that  I  shall  do  with  this  '^. 

Ang.  What  please  yourself, sir ;  I  have  made  it  for  you. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  i8i 

6'.  Ant.  Made  it  for  me,  sir !  I  bespoke  it  not. 

Aug.  Not  once  nor  twice,  but  twenty  times  you  have: 
Go  home  with  it,  and  please  your  wife  withal : 
And  soon  at  supper-time  I'll  visit  you. 
And  then  receive  my  money  for  the  chain. 

^.  Ant.  I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money  now. 
For  fear  you  ne'er  see  chain  nor  money  more. 

Ang.  You  are  a  merry  man,  sir ;  fare  you  well.    {^Exit. 

S.  Ant.  What  I  should  think  of  this,  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain, 
That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  offer'd  chain. 
I  see,  a  man  here  needs  not  live  by  shifts. 
When  in  the  streets  he  meets  such  golden  gifts. 
I'll  to  the  mart,  and  there  for  Dromio  stay; 
If  any  ship  put  out,  then  straight  away.  {Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene    \.  — Enter   a    Merchant,    Goldsmith,   and    an 

Officer. 

Mer.  You  know,  since  Pentecost  the  sum  is  due, 
And  since  I  have  not  much  importun'd  you ; 
Nor  now  I  had  not,  but  that  I  am  bound 
To  Persia,  and  want  gilders  for  my  voyage : 
Therefore  make  present  satisfaction, 
Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Gold.  Even  just  the  sum  that  I  do  owe  to  you, 
Is  growing  to  me  by  Antipholus: 
And  in  the  instant  that  I  met  with  you, 
He  had  of  me  a  chain ;  at  five  o'clock, 
I  shall  receive  the  money  for  the  same : 
Pleaseth  you  walk  with  me  down  to  his  house, 
I  will  discharge  my  bond,  and  thank  you  too. 

Enter    Antipholus    of     Ephesus    and    Dromio    of 
EpHESus/rd?;//  the  Courtesan's. 

Off.  That  labour  may  you  save :  see  where  he  comes. 
E.  Ant.  While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  house,  go  thou 


1 82  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

And  buy  a  rope's  end ;  that  will  I  bestow 
Among  my  wife  and  her  confederates, 
For  locking  me  out  of  my  doors  by  day. — 
But  soft,  I  see  the  goldsmith  : — get  thee  gone : 
Buy  thou  a  rope,  and  bring  it  home  to  me. 

E.  Dro.  I  buy  a  thousand  pound  a  year  !   I  buy  rope  ! 

\^Exit  Dromio. 

E.  Ant.  A  man  is  well  held  up  that  trusts  to  you. 
I  promised  your  presence,  and  the  chain ; 
But  neither  chain  nor  goldsmith  came  to  me : 
Belike,  you  thought  our  love  would  last  too  long, 
If  it  were  chain'd  together;  and  therefore  came  not. 

Gold.  Saving  your  merry  humour,  here's  the  note, 
How  much  your  chain  weighs  to  the  utmost  carat ; 
The  fineness  of  the  gold,  and  chargeful  fashion ; 
Which  doth  amount  to  three  odd  ducats  more 
Than  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman ; 
I  pray  you,  see  him  presently  discharg'd. 
For  he  is  bound  to  sea,  and  stays  but  for  it. 

E.  Ant.  I  am  not  furnish'd  with  the  present  money: 
Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town : 
Good  signior,  take  the  stranger  to  my  house. 
And  with  you  take  the  chain,  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  the  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof ; 
Perchance  I  will  be  there  as  soon  as  you. 

Gold.  Then  you  will  bring  the  chain  to  her  yourself  ? 

E.  Ant.  No ;  bear  it  with  you,  lest  I  come  not  time 
enough. 

Gold.  Well,  sir,  I  will.     Have  you  the  chain   about 
you  ? 

E.  Ant.  And  if  I  have  not,  sir,  I  hope  you  have: 
Or  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 

Gold.  Nay,  come,  I  pray  you,  sir,  give  me  the  chain ; 
Both  wind  and  tide  stays  for  this  gentleman. 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  him  here  too  long. 

E.  Ant.  Good  lord,  you  use  this  dalliance  to  excuse 
Your  breach  of  promise  to  the  Porpentine  : 
I  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it. 
But,  like  a  shrew,  you  first  begin  to  brawl. 

Mer.  The  hour  steals  on ;   I  pray  you,  sir,  despatch. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  183 

Gold.  You  hear  how  he  importunes  me ;  the  chain — 

E.  Ant.  Why, give  it  to  my  wife,  and  fetch  your  money. 

Gold.  Come,  come,  you   know   I   gave   it   you   even 
now; 
Either  send  the  chain,  or  send  by  me  some  token. 

E.  Ant.  Fie  !  now  you  run  this  humour  out  of  breath  : 
Come,  where's  the  chain }   I  pray  you  let  me  see  it. 

Mer.  My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalHance ; 
Good  sir,  say,  whe'r  you'll  answer  me,  or  no  ; 
If  not,  I'll  leave  him  to  the  ofhcer. 

E.  Ant.  I  answer  you  }  What  should  I  answ^er  you  ? 

Gold.  The  money  that  you  owe  me  for  the  chain. 

E.  Ant.  I  owe  you  none  till  I  receive  the  chain. 

Gold.  You  know  I  gave  it  you  half  an  hour  since. 

E.  Ant.  You  gave  me  none ;  you  wrong  me  much 
to  say  so. 

Gold.  You  wrong  me  more,  sir,  in  denying  it: 
Consider  how  it  stands  upon  my  credit. 

Mer.  Well,  officer,  arrest  him  at  my  suit. 

Off.  I  do ;  and   charge  you   in   the  duke's  name  to 
obey  me. 

Gold.  This  touches  me  in  reputation  : 
Either  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me, 
Or  I  attach  you  by  this  ofBcer. 

E.  Ant.  Consent  to  pay  thee  that  I  never  had.f* 
Arrest  me,  foolish  fellow,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Gold.  Here  is  thy  fee ;  arrest  him,  officer, 
I  would  not  spare  my  brother  in  this  case, 
If  he  should  scorn  me  so  apparently. 

Off.  I  do  arrest  you,  sir,  you  hear  the  suit. 

E.  Ant.  I  do  obey  thee,  till  I  give  thee  bail : 
But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sport  as  dear 
As  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Gold.  Sir,  sir,  I  shall  have  law  in  Ephesus, 
To  your  notorious  shame,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  from  the  bay. 

S.  Dro.  Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epidamnum, 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  comes  aboard, 


1 84  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

And  then,  sir,  she  bears  away :  our  fraughtage,  sir, 

I  have  convey 'd  aboard :  and  I  have  bought 

The  oil,  the  balsamum,  and  aqua-vitee. 

The  ship  is  in  her  trim ;  the  merry  wind 

Blows  fair  from  land :  they  stay  for  naught  at  all. 

But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 

E.  Ant.  How  now!  a  madman  !    Why,  thou  peevish 
sheep, 
What  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 

S.  Dro.  A  ship  you  sent  me  to,  to  hire  waftage. 

E.  Ant.  Thou  drunken  slave,  I  sent  thee  for  a  rope, 
And  told  thee  to  what  purpose  and  what  end. 

S.  Dro.  You  sent  me  for  a  rope's  end  as  soon : 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bark. 

E.  Ant.  I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leisure, 
And  teach  your  ears  to  list  me  with  more  heed. 
To  Adriana,  villain,  hie  thee  straight : 
Give  her  this  key,  and  tell  her,  in  the  desk, 
That's  cover'd  o'er  with  Turkish  tapestry, 
There  is  a  purse  of  ducats :  let  her  send  it ; 
Tell  her  I  am  arrested  in  the  street, 
And  that  shall  bail  me  :  hie  thee,  slave  ;  be  gone. 
On,  officer,  to  prison,  till  it  come.  \_Exeunt. 

S.  Dro.  To  Adriana !  that  is  where  we  din'd. 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband : 
She  is  too  big,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will. 
For  servants  must  their  masters'  minds  fulfil.        \_Exit. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 

Adr.  Ah,  Luciana,  did  he  tempt  thee  so.^^ 

Mightst  thou  perceive  austerely  in  his  eye 
That  he  did  plead  in  earnest,  yea  or  no } 

Look'd  he  or  red,  or  pale ;  or  sad,  or  merrily } 
What  observation  mad'st  thou  in  this  case, 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face } 

Lmc.  First,  he  denied  you  had  in  him  no  right. 

Adr.  He   meant,  he   did  me   none ;    the   more    my 
spite. 


Plate  23 
AY,  AY,  ANTIPHOLUS,  LOOK   STRANGE   AND   FROWN" 

The  Comedy  of  Errors,  act  ii.,  scene  ii. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  185 

Luc.  Then  swore  he  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 

Adr.  And   true   he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn  he 
were. 

Luc.  Then  pleaded  I  for  you. 

Adr.  And  what  said  he  } 

Luc.  That  love  I  begg'd  for  you,  he  begg'd  of  me. 

Ad}\  With  what  persuasion  did  he  tempt  thy  love  ? 

Luc.  With    words    that    in    an    honest    suit    miorht 
move. 
First,  he  did  praise  my  beauty ;  then  my  speech. 

Adr.  Didst  speak  him  fair.? 

Luc.  Have  patience,  I  beseech. 

Adr.  I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  hold  me  still ; 
My  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  his  will. 
He  is  deformed,  crooked,  old,  and  sere, 
Ill-fac'd,  worse-bodied,  shapeless  everywhere  ; 
Vicious,  ungentle,  foolish,  blunt,  unkind ; 
Stigmatical  in  making,  worse  in  mind. 

Luc.  Who  would  be  jealous  then  of  such  a  one  1 
No  evil  lost  is  wail'd  when  it  is  Q:one. 

Adr.  Ah !  but  I  think  him  better  than  I  say. 

And  yet  would  herein  others'  eyes  were  worse: 
Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away ; 

My  heart  prays  for  him,  though  my  tongue  do  curse. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

*S.  Dro.  Here,  go ;   the  desk,  the  purse ;   sweet  now, 

make  haste. 
Ltic.   How  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath  ? 
6^.  Dro.  By  running  fast. 

Adr.  Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio  ?     Is  he  well  t 
S.  Dro.  No,  he's  in  tartar-limbo,  worse  than  hell : 
A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him, 
One  whose  hard  heart  is  button'd  up  with  steel ; 
A  fiend,  a  fairy,  pitiless  and  rough ; 
A  wolf,  nay,  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff ; 
A   back-friend,  a  shoulder-clapper,  one    that   counter- 
mands 
The  passages  of  alleys,  creeks,  and  narrow  lands ; 


1 86  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

A    hound   that   runs  counter,  and   yet  draws   dry-foot 

well ; 
One  that,  before  the   judgment,  carries   poor  souls   to 
hell. 
Adr.  Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
S.  Dro.  I  do  not  know  the  matter ;  he  is  'rested  on 

the  case. 
Adr.  What,  is  he  arrested  ?     Tell  me,  at  whose  suit  t 
S.  Dro.  I   know  not  at  whose   suit  he  is  arrested, 
well ; 
But  is  in  a  suit  of  buff  which  'rested  him,  that  can   I 

tell: 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption,  the  money  in 
his  desk  ? 
Adr.  Go  fetch  it,  sister. — This  I  wonder  at, 

\_Exit  LUCIANA. 
That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  debt: 
Tell  me,  was  he  arrested  on  a  band  ? 

6".  Dro.  Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing ; 
A  chain,  a  chain.     Do  you  not  hear  it  ring.? 
Adr.  What,  the  chain  ? 

S.  Dro.  No,  no,  the  bell :  'tis  time  that  I  were  gone. 
It  was  two  ere  I  left  him,  and  now  the  clock  strikes 
one. 
Adr.  The  hours  come  back !  that  did  I  never  hear. 
6^.  Dro.  Oh,  yes :   If  any  hour  meet   a  sergeant,  he 

turns  back  for  very  fear. 
Adr.  As  if  Time  were  in  debt !  how  fondly  dost  thou 

reason } 
S.  Dro.  Time   is   a  very   bankrupt,  and   owes   more 
than  he's  worth  to  season. 
Nay,  he's  a  thief  too :   Have  you  not  heard  men  say. 
That  Time  comes  stealing  on  by  night  and  day  ? 
If  he  be  in  debt,  and  theft,  and  a  sergeant  in  the  way, 
Hath  he  not  reason  to  turn  back  an  hour  in  a  day.f* 

Enter  Luciana. 

Adr.  Go,  Dromio;  there's  the  money,  bear  it  straight ; 
And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately. — 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  187 

Come,  sister :   I  am  press'd  down  with  conceit ; 

Conceit,  my  comfort  and  my  injury.  \_Exeu7it, 

Scene  III. — Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

S.  Ant.  There's  not  a  man  I  meet  but  doth  salute  me 
As  if  I  were  their  well-acquainted  friend ; 
And  every  one  doth  call  me  by  my  name. 
Some  tender  money  to  me,  some  invite  me, 
Some  other  give  me  thanks  for  kindnesses ; 
Some  offer  me  commodities  to  buy : 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  his  shop. 
And  show'd  me  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me. 
And,  therewithal,  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure,  these  are  but  imaginary  wiles, 
And  Lapland  sorcerers  inhabit  here. 

E7iter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

S.  Dro.  Master,  here's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for. 
What,  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparell'd  '^ 

S.  Ant.  What  gold  is  this }  what  Adam  dost  thou 
mean } 

S.  Dro.  Not  that  Adam  that  kept  the  paradise,  but 
that  Adam  that  keeps  the  prison ;  he  that  goes  in  the 
calf's  skin  that  was  kill'd  for  the  prodigal ;  he  that  came 
behind  you,  sir,  like  an  evil  angel,  and  bid  you  forsake 
your  liberty. 

S.  Ant.  I  understand  thee  not. 

6^.  Dro.  No }  why,  'tis  a  plain  case :  he  that  went 
like  a  bass-viol  in  a  case  of  leather;  the  man,  sir, 
that,  when  gentlemen  are  tired,  gives  them  a  fob 
and  'rests  them ;  he,  sir,  that  takes  pity  on  decayed 
men,  and  gives  them  suits  of  durance  ;  he  that  sets 
up  his  rest  to  do  more  exploits  with  his  mace  than  a 
morris  pike. 

kS".  Ant.  What!  thou  mean'st  an  officer.? 

^.  Dro.  Ay,  sir,  the  sergeant  of  the  band  ;  he  that 
brings  any  man  to  answer  it  that  breaks  his  band :  one 


1 88  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

that  thinks  a  man  always  going  to  bed,  and  says,  God 
give  you  good  rest. 

S.  AuL  Well,  sir,  there  rest  in  your  foolery. 
Is  there  any  ship  puts  forth  to-night  ?  may  we  be  gone  ? 

S.  Dro.  Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  hour  since 
that  the  bark  Expedition  puts  forth  to-night ;  and  then 
were  you  hindered  by  the  sergeant  to  tarry  for  the  hoy 
Delay.  Here  are  the  angels  that  you  sent  for  to  de- 
liver you. 

S.  Ant.  The  fellow  is  distract,  and  so  am  I ; 
And  here  we  wander  in  illusions. 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence ! 

Enter  a  Courtesan. 

Cour.  Well  met,  well  met.  Master  Antipholus. 
I  see,  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now ; 
Is  that  the  chain  you  promised  me  to-day } 

S.  Ant.  Satan,  avoid !   I  charge  thee  tempt  me  not. 

S.  Dro.  Master,  is  this  Mistress  Satan } 

S.  Ant.  It  is  the  devil. 

6^.  Dro.  Nay,  she  is  worse,  she  is  the  devil's  dam, 
and  here  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light  wench  ;  and 
therefore  comes  that  the  wenches  say,  God  damn  me. 
That's  as  much  as  to  say,  God  make  me  a  light  wench. 
It  is  written,  they  appear  to  men  like  angels  of  light ; 
light  is  an  effect  of  fire,  and  fire  will  burn ;  ergo,  light 
wenches  wull  burn.     Come  not  near  her. 

Cotir.  Your  man  and  you  are  marvellous  merry,  sir. 
W^ill  you  go  with  me  1     We'll  mend  our  dinner  here. 

6'.  Dro.  Master,  if  you  do,  expect  spoon  meat,  or  be- 
speak a  long  spoon. 

S.  A  n  t.  W  h  y ,  D  ro  m  i  o  1 

S.  Dro.  Marry,  he  must  have  a  long  spoon  that  must 
eat  with  the  devil. 

6^.  Ant.  Avoid  then,  fiend !  what  tell'st  thou  me  of 
supping.'* 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress. 
I  conjure  thee  to  leave  me,  and  be  gone. 

Cour.  Give  me  the  ring  of  mine  you  had  at  dinner, 


Plate  24 
•LET   MY   MASTER    IN,  LUCK  ' 

The  Comedy  of  Errors,  act  iii.,  scent-  i. 


i 

Vii 


fmmm 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  189 

Or,  for  my  diamond,  the  chain  you  promis'd, 
And  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

S.  Dro.  Some  devils  ask  but  the  parings  of  one's  nail; 
a  rush,  a  hair,  a  drop  of  blood,  a  pin,  a  nut,  a  cherry- 
stone;  but  she,  more  covetous,  would  have  a  chain. 
Master,  be  wise ;  and  if  you  give  it  her,  the  devil  will 
shake  her  chain,  and  fright  us  with  it. 

Cour.   I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain ; 
I  hope  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

S.  Aiit.  Avaunt,  thou  witch  !     Come,  Dromio,  let  us 

go- 

kS.  Dro.  Fly,  pride,  says  the  peacock.     Mistress  that 
you  know.  \^Exit. 

Cou7'.  Now,  out  of  doubt  Antipholus  is  mad, 
Else  would  he  never  so  demean  himself. 
A  ring  he  hath  of  mine  worth  forty  ducats. 
And  for  the  same  he  promised  me  a  chain ; 
Both  one  and  other  he  denies  me  now. 
The  reason  that  I  gather  he  is  mad 
(Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage) 
Is  a  mad  tale  he  told  to-day  at  dinner. 
Of  his  own  doors  being  shut  against  his  entrance. 
Belike  his  wife,  acquainted  with  his  fits. 
On  purpose  shut  the  doors  against  his  way. 
My  way  is  now  to  hie  home  to  his  house 
And  tell  his  wife  that,  being  lunatic. 
He  rush'd  into  my  house  and  took  perforce 
My  ring  away.     This  course  I  fittest  choose, 
For  forty  ducats  is  too  much  to  lose. 

Scene    IV. — Enter  Antipholus   of   Ephesus    with    a 

Gaoler. 

E.  Aiit.  Fear  me  not,  man,  I  will  not  break  away ; 
I'll  give  thee,  ere  I  leave  thee,  so  much  money 
To  warrant  thee  as  I  am  'rested  for. 
My  wife  is  in  a  wayward  mood  to-day. 
And  will  not  lightly  trust  the  messenger 
That  I  should  be  attach'd  in  Ephesus. 
I  tell  you,  'twill  sound  harshly  in  her  ears. 


190  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus  with  a  ropes  end. 

Here  comes  my  man  ;   I  think  he  brings  the  money. — 
How  now,  sir?  have  yon  that  I  sent  you  for? 

E.  Dro.   Here's  that,  I  warrant  you,  will  pay  them  all. 

E.  Ant.  But  where's  the  money? 

E.  Dro.  Why,  sir,  I  gave  the  money  for  the  rope. 

E.  Ant.  Five  hundred  ducats,  villain,  for  a  rope  ? 

E.  Dro.  I'll  serve  you,  sir,  five  hundred  at  the  rate. 

E.  Ant.  To  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee  home  ? 

E.  Dro.  To  a  rope's  end,  sir,  and  to  that  end  am  I 
return'd. 

E.  Ant.  And  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome  you. 

Off.  Good  sir,  be  patient. 

E.  Dro.  Nay,  'tis  for  me  to  be  patient;   I  am  in  ad- 
versity. 

Off.  Good  now,  hold  thy  tongue. 

E.  Dro.  Nay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his  hands. 

E.  Ant.  Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain  ! 

E.  Dro.  I  would  I  were  senseless,  sir,  that   I  might 
not  feel  your  blows. 

E.  Ant.  Thou  art  sensible  in  nothing  but  blows,  and 
so  is  an  ass. 

•  E.  Dro.  I  am  an  ass  indeed ;  you  may  prove  it  by 
my  long  ears.  I  have  served  him  from  the  hour  of  my 
nativity  to  this  instant,  and  have  nothing  at  his  hands 
for  my  service  but  blows.  When  I  am  cold,  he  heats 
me  with  beating;  when  I  am  warm,  he  cools  me  with 
beating.  I  am  waked  with  it  when  I  sleep;  raised 
with  it  when  I  sit;  driven  out  of  doors  with  it  when 
I  go  from  home ;  welcomed  home  with  it  when  I  re- 
turn :  nay,  I  bear  it  on  my  shoulders,  as  a  beggar 
wont  her  brat;  and  I  think,  when  he  hath  lamed  me, 
I  shall  beg  with  it  from  door  to  door. 

Enter  Adriana,    Luciana,   Courtesan,   and  a   School- 
master catted  Pinch. 

E.  Ant.  Come,  go  along;  my  wife  is  coming  yonder. 
E.  Dro.   Mistress,  respice finem,  respect  your  end  ;  or 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  191 

rather  the  prophecy,  like  the  parrot,  beware  the  rope's 
end. 

E.  Ant.  Wilt  thou  still  talk?  {^Beats  Dromio. 

Cour.  How  say  you  now  ?    Is  not  your  husband  mad  ? 

Adr.   His  incivility  confirms  no  less. 
Good  Doctor  Pinch,  you  are  a  conjurer; 
Establish  him  in  his  true  sense  again, 
And  I  will  please  you  what  you  will  demand. 

Luc.  Alas,  how  fiery  and  how  sharp  he  looks ! 

Cour.  Mark  how  he  trembles  in  his  ecstasy! 

Pinch.  Give   me   your  hand,  and   let   me   feel    your 
pulse. 

E.  Ant.  There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  your  ear. 

Pinch.  I  charge  thee,  Satan,  housed  within  this  man, 
To  yield  possession  to  my  holy  prayers, 
And  to  thy  state  of  darkness  hie  thee  straight; 
I  conjure  thee  by  all  the  saints  in  heaven. 

E.  Ant.  Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace ;   I  am  not  mad. 

Adr.  Oh,  that  thou  wert  not,  poor  distressed  soul ! 

E.  Ant.  You  minion  you,  are  these  your  customers.'* 
Did  this  companion  with  the  saffron  face 
Revel  and  feast  it  at  my  house  to-day. 
Whilst  upon  me  the  guilty  doors  were  shut. 
And  I  denied  to  enter  in  my  house  .^^ 

Adr.  Oh, husband,  God  doth  know  you  dined  at  home, 
Where  would  you  had  remained  until  this  time. 
Free  from  these  slanders  and  this  open  shame. 

E.  Ant.  Dined  at  home !     Thou  villain,  what  sayest 
thou } 

E.  Dro.  Sir,  sooth  to  say,  you  did  not  dine  at  home. 

E.  Ant.  Were  not  my  doors  lock'd  up,  and   I  shut 
out.? 

E.  Dro.  Perdie,  your  doors  were  lock'd,  and  you  shut 
out. 

E.  Ant.  And  did  not  she  herself  revile  me  there.? 

E.  Dro.  Sans  fable,  she  herself  reviled  you  there. 

E.  Aiit.  Did   not   her   kitchen-maid   rail,  taunt,  and 
scorn  me .? 

E.  Dro.  Certes,  she  did;  the  kitchen -vestal  scorn'd 
you. 


192  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

E.  Ant.  And  did  not  I  in  rage  depart  from  thence? 

E.  Dro.   In  verity  you  did  ;  my  bones  bear  witness, 
That  since  have  felt  the  vis^our  of  his  ra^e. 

Adr.  Is  t  orood  to  soothe  him  in  these  contraries  ? 

Pinch.   It  is  no  shame ;  the  fellow  finds  his  vem, 
And,  yielding  to  him,  humours  well  his  frenzy. 

E.  Ant.  Thou  has  suborn'd  the  goldsmith  to  arrest 
me. 

Adr.  Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  in  haste  for  it. 

E.  Dro.  Money   by  me }    heart   and  good  -  will   you 
might, 
But,  surely,  master,  not  a  rag  of  money. 

E.  Ant.  Went'st  not  thou  to  her  for  a  purse  of  ducats  } 

Adr.  He  came  to  me,  and  I  deliver'd  it. 

Liic.  And  I  am  witness  with  her  that  she  did. 

E.  Dro.  God  and  the  rope-maker  bear  me  witness 
That  I  was  sent  for  nothing  but  a  rope ! 

Pinch.  Mistress,  both  man  and  master  is  possess'd  ; 
I  know  it  by  their  pale  and  deadly  looks. 
They  must  be  bound  and  laid  in  some  dark  room. 

E.  Ant.  Say,  wherefore  didst    thou   lock   me    forth 
to-day, 
And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  t 

Adr.   I  did  not,  gentle  husband,  lock  thee  forth. 

E.  Dro.  And,  gentle  master,  I  receiv'd  no  gold  ? 
But  I  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 

Adr.  Dissembling  villain,  thou  speak'st  false  in  both. 

E.  Ant.  Dissembling  harlot,  thou  art  false  in  all ; 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack 
To  make  a  loathsome  abject  scorn  of  me. 
But  with  these  nails  I'll  pluck  out  these  false  eyes, 
That  would  behold  in  me  this  shameful  sport. 

Enter  three  or  four,  and  offer  to  bind  him.    He  strives. 

Adr.  Oh,  bind  him,  bind  him,  let  him  not  come  near 

me. 
Pinch.  More  company ;   the  fiend   is   strong  within 
him. 


Plate  25 
TEACH    ME.  DEAR  CREATURE  " 

The  Comedy  of  Errors,  act  iii.,  scene  ii. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  193 

Luc.  Ah  me,  poor  man,  how  pale  and  wan  he  looks. 

E.  Ant.  What,  will  you  murder  me,  thou  gaoler  thou  ? 
I  am  thy  prisoner ;  wilt  thou  suffer  them  to  make  a 
rescue  ? 

Off.  Masters,  let  him  go  ; 

He  is  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 

Pinch.  Go  bind  this  man,  for  he  is  frantic  too. 

Adr.  What  wilt  thou  do,  thou  peevish  officer? 
Hast  thou  delight  to  see  a  wretched  man 
Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself } 

Off.  He  is  my  prisoner ;  if  I  let  him  go, 
The  debt  he  owes  will  be  required  of  me. 

Adr.  I  will  discharge  thee  ere  I  go  from  thee. 
Bear  me  forthwith  unto  his  creditor. 
And,  knowing  how  the  debt  grows,  I  will  pay  it. 
Good  master  doctor,  see  him  safe  convey'd 
Home  to  my  house. — Oh,  most  unhappy  day ! 

E.  Ant.  Oh,  most  unhappy  strumpet ! 

E.  Dro.  Master,  I  am  here  enter'd  in  bond  for  you. 

E.  Ant.  Out  on  thee,  villain !   wherefore  dost  thou 
mad  me } 

E.  Dro.  Will  you  be  bound  for  nothing  ?  be  mad, 
good  master ;  cry  the  devil. 

Luc.  God  help  poor  souls,  how  idly  do  they  talk  ! 

Adr.  Go,  bear  him  hence. — Sister,  go  you  with  me. — 
Say  now,  whose  suit  is  he  arrested  at .? 

Exeunt  manet  Officer,  Adriana,  Luciana,  Courtesan. 

Off.  One  Angelo,  a  goldsmith ;  do  you  know  him  } 

Adr.  I  know  the  man.     What  is  the  sum  he  owes  } 

Off.  Two  hundred  ducats. 

Adr.  Say,  how  grows  it  due  1 

Off.  Due  for  a  chain  your  husband  had  of  him. 

Adr.  He  did  bespeak  a  chain  for  me,  but  had  it  not. 

Coiir.  When  as  your  husband,  all  in  rage,  to-day 
Came  to  my  house,  and  took  away  my  ring 
(The  ring  I  saw  upon  his  finger  now), 
Straight  after  did  I  meet  him  with  a  chain. 

Adr.  It  may  be  so,  but  I  did  never  see  it. 


194  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Come,  gaoler,  bring  me  where  the  goldsmith  is, 
I  long  to  know  the  truth  hereof  at  large. 


Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  with  his  rapier  drawn ^ 
and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Luc.  God  for  thy  mercy !  they  are  loose  again. 

Adr.  And  come  with  naked  swords  ; 
Let's  call  more  help  to  have  them  bound  again. 

\Rti7i  all  out. 

Off.  Away,  they'll  kill  us. 

\Exeunt  omnes,  as  fast  as  ?7iay  de,  frightened. 

S.  Ant.  I  see  these  witches  are  afraid  of  swords. 

6".  Dro.  She  that  would  be  your  wife  now  ran  from 
you. 

S.  Ant.  Come  to  the  Centaur;  fetch  our  stuff  from 
thence ; 
I  long  that  we  were  safe  and  sound  aboard. 

S.  Dro.  Faith,  stay  here  this  night ;  they  will  surely 
do  us  no  harm.  You  saw  they  speak  us  fair,  give  us 
gold.  Methinks  they  are  such  a  gentle  nation  that,  but 
for  the  mountain  of  mad  flesh  that  claims  marriage  of 
me,  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  stay  here  still,  and  turn 
witch. 

6^.  Ant.  I  will  not  stay  to-night  for  all  the  town ; 
Therefore  away,  to  get  our  stuff  aboard.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT  V 
Scene  I. — Enter  the  Merchant  aitd  the  Goldsmith. 

Gold.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  I  have  hinder'd  you  ; 
But  I  protest  he  had  the  chain  of  me. 
Though  most  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

Mer.   How  is  the  man  esteem'd  here  in  the  city  ? 

Gold.  Of  very  reverend  reputation,  sir, 
Of  credit  infinite,  highly  beloved. 
Second  to  none  that  lives  here  in  the  city  ; 
His  word  might  bear  my  wealth  at  any  time. 

Mer.  Speak  softly:  yonder,  as  I  think,  he  walks. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  19S 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  again. 

Gold.  'Tis  so ;  and  that  self  chain  about  his  neck 
Which  he  forswore,  most  monstrously,  to  have. 
Good  sir,  draw  near  to  me,  I'll  speak  to  him. — 
Signior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much 
That  you  would  put  me  to  this  shame  and  trouble  ; 
And  not  without  some  scandal  to  yourself, 
With  circumstance  and  oaths  so  to  deny 
This  chain,  which  now  you  wear  so  openly. 
Besides  the  charge,  the  shame,  imprisonment, 
You  have  done  wrong  to  this  my  honest  friend ; 
Who,  but  for  staying  on  our  controversy. 
Had  hoisted  sail  and  put  to  sea  to-day. 
This  chain  you  had  of  me,  can  you  deny  it  ? 

S.  Ant.  I  think  I  had;   I  never  did  deny  it. 

Mer.  Yes,  that  you  did,  sir;  and  forswore  it  too. 

61  Ant.  Who  heard  me  to  deny  it  or  forswear  it } 

Mei'.  These    ears   of  mine,  thou   knowest,  did   hear 
thee. 
Fie  on  thee,  wretch  !  'tis  pity  that  thou  liv'st 
To  walk  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

S.  Ant.  Thou  art  a  villain  to  impeach  me  thus. 
I'll  prove  mine  honour  and  mine  honesty 
Against  thee  presently,  if  thou  dar'st  stand. 

Mcr.   I  dare,  and  do  defy  thee  for  a  villain. 

[  They  draw. 

Enter  Adriana   Luciana,  Courtesan,  and  others. 

Adr.   Hold !    hurt   him    not   for    God's   sake ;    he   is 
mad ; 
Some  get  within  him,  take  his  sword  away. 
Bind  Dromio  too,  and  bear  them  to  my  house. 

kS'.  Dro.  Run,  master,   run !    for    God's  sake   take   a 
house ! 
This  is  some  priory.     In,  or  we  are  spoil'd. 

\_Exeunt  to  the  Priory. 


196  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Enter  Lady  Abbess. 

Abb.  Be  quiet,  people  ;  wherefore  throng  you  hither  ? 

Adr.  To  fetch  my  poor  distracted  husband  hence  ; 
Let  us  come  in,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast, 
And  bear  him  home  for  his  recovery. 

Gold.  I  knew  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  wits. 

Mer.   I  am  sorry  now  that  I  did  draw  on  him. 

Abb.  How  long  hath  this  possession  held  the  man } 

Adr.  This  week  he  hath  been  heavy,  sour,  sad. 
And  much  different  from  the  man  he  was; 
But,  till  this  afternoon,  his  passion 
Ne'er  broke  into  extremity  of  rage. 

Abb.   Hath    he   not  lost   much  wealth   by  wreck   of 
sea.f* 
Buried  some  dear  friend.'*   Hath  not  else  his  eye 
Stray 'd  his  affection  in  unlawful  love — 
A  sin  prevailing  much  in  youthful  men 
Who  give  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing.? 
Which  of  these  sorrows  is  he  subject  to .? 

Adr.  To  none  of  these,  except  it  be  the  last, 
Namely,  some  love  that  drew  him  oft  from  home. 

Abb.  You  should  for  that  have  reprehended  him. 

Adr.  Why,  so  I  did. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  rough  enough. 

Adr.  As  roughly  as  my  modesty  would  let  me. 

Abb.  Haply  in  private. 

Adr.  And  in  assemblies  too. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  enough. 

Adr.  It  was  the  copy  of  our  conference  ; 
In  bed  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it ; 
At  board  he  fed  not  for  my  urging  it ; 
Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  ; 
In  company  I  often  glanced  it. 
Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad. 

Abb.  And  therefore  came  it  that  the  man  was  mad. 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman, 
Poison  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth. 
It  seems  his  sleeps  were  hinder'd  by  thy  railing; 
And  therefore  comes  it  that  his  head  is  light. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  197 

Thou  say'st  his  meat  was  sauced  with  thy  upbraidings; 

Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions, 

Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred ; 

And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness? 

Thou  sayest  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls; 

Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue 

But  moody  and  dull  melancholy 

(Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair) 

And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infectious  troop 

Of  pale  distemperatures  and  foes  to  life  ? 

In  food,  in  sport,  and  life-preserving  rest 

To  be  disturb'd  would  mad  or  man  or  beast; 

The  consequence  is  then,  thy  jealous  fits 

Have  scared  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 

Luc.  She  never  reprehended  him  but  mildly, 
When  he  demean'd  himself  rough,  rude,  and  wildly. 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes,  and  answer  not  ? 

Adv.  She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof. — 
Good  people,  enter  and  lay  hold  on  him. 

Abb.  No,  not  a  creature  enters  in  my  house. 

Adv.  Then    let    your    servants    bring    my    husband 
forth. 

Abb.  Neither ;  he  took  this  place  for  sanctuary. 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands. 
Till  I  have  brought  him  to  his  wits  again, 
Or  lose  my  labour  in  assaying  it. 

Adr.   I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse, 
Diet  his  sickness,  for  it  is  my  office. 
And  will  have  no  attorney  but  myself; 
And  therefore  let  me  have  him  home  with  me. 

Abb.  Be  patient;  for  I  will  not  let  him  stir 
Till  I  have  used  the  approved  means  I  have 
With  wholesome  syrups,  drugs,  and  holy  prayers, 
To  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again, 
It  is  a  branch  and  parcel  of  mine  oath, 
A  charitable  duty  of  my  order ; 
Therefore  depart,  and  leave  him  here  with  me. 

Adr.  I  will  not  hence,  and  leave  my  husband  here ; 
And  ill  it  doth  beseem  your  holiness 
To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 


198  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Abb.  Be  quiet,  and  depart ;  thou  shalt  not  have  him. 

Lnc.  Complain  unto  the  duke  of  this  indignity. 

Adr,  Come,  go;   I  will  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet, 
And  never  rise  until  my  tears  and  prayers 
Have  won  his  grace  to  come  in  person  hither, 
And  take  perforce  my  husband  from  the  abbess. 

Mer.  By  this  I  think  the  dial  points  at  five. 
Anon,  I'm  sure  the  duke  himself  in  person 
Comes  this  way  to  the  melancholy  vale ; 
The  place  of  death  and  sorry  execution. 
Behind  the  ditches  of  the  abbey  here. 

Gold.  Upon  what  cause  ? 

Mer.  To  see  a  reverend  Syracusan  merchant. 
Who  put  unluckily  into  this  bay 
Against  the  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town. 
Beheaded  publicly  for  his  offence. 

Gold.  See,  where    they  come ;    we  will    behold    his 
death. 

Luc.  Kneel  to  the  duke  before  he  pass  the  abbey. 

Enter  the   Duke   of  Ephesus   and  the  Merchant   of 

Syracuse,  bareheaded,  with  Headsman  and 

other  officers. 

Duke.  Yet  once  again  proclaim  it  publicly 
If  any  friend  will  pay  the  sum  for  him. 
He  shall  not  die,  so  much  we  tender  him. 

Adr.  Justice,  most  sacred  duke,  against  the  abbess  ! 

Duke.  She  is  a  virtuous  and  a  reverend  lady; 
It  cannot  be  that  she  hath  done  thee  wrong. 

Adr.  May  it  please  your  grace,  Antipholus,  my  hus- 
band. 
Whom  I  made  lord  of  me  and  all  I  had. 
At  your  important  letters,  this  ill  day 
A  most  outrageous  fit  of  madness  took  him. 
That  desp'rately  he  hurried  through  the  street 
(With  him  his  bondman,  all  as  mad  as  he) 
Doing  displeasure  to  the  citizens 
By  rushing  in  their  houses,  bearing  thence 
Rings,  jewels,  anything  his  rage  did  like. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  199 

Once  did  I  get  him  bound,  and  sent  him  home, 
Whilst  to  take  order  for  the  wrongs  I  went, 
That  here  and  there  his  fury  had  committed. 
Anon,  I  wot  not  by  what  strong  escape, 
He  broke  from  those  that  had  the  guard  of  him, 
And,  with  his  mad  attendant  and  himself, 
Each  one  with  ireful  passion,  with  drawn  swords. 
Met  us  again,  and,  madly  bent  on  us. 
Chased  us  away;  till,  raising  of  more  aid. 
We  came  again  to  bind  them ;  then  they  fled 
Into  this  abbey,  whither  we  pursued  them ; 
And  here  the  abbess  shuts  the  gates  on  us, 
And  will  not  suffer  us  to  fetch  him  out. 
Nor  send  him  forth,  that  we  may  bear  him  hence. 
Therefore,  most  gra9ious  duke,  with  thy  command. 
Let  him  be  brought  forth,  and  borne  hence  for  help. 
Duke.  Long   since   thy   husband  served   me   in   my 
wars ; 
And  I  to  thee  engaged  a  prince's  word, 
When  thou  didst  make  him  master  of  thy  bed. 
To  do  him  all  the  grace  and  good  I  could. — 
Go,  some  of  you,  knock  at  the  abbey  gate 
And  bid  the  lady  abbess  come  to  me; 
I  will  determine  this  before  I  stir. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mes.  Oh,  mistress,  mistress,  shift  and  save  yourself; 
My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broke  loose. 
Beaten  the  maids  a-row,  and  bound  the  doctor, 
Whose  beard  they  have  singed  off  with  brands  of  fire. 
And  ever  as  it  blaz'd  they  threw  on  him 
Great  pails  of  puddled  mire  to  quench  the  hair. 
My  master  preaches  patience  to  him,  and  the  while 
His  man  with  scissors  nicks  him  like  a  fool. 
And  sure,  unless  you  send  some  present  help, 
Between  them  they  will  kill  the  conjurer. 

Adr.  Peace,  fool ;  thy  master  and  his  man  are  here. 
And  that  is  false  thou  dost  report  to  us. 

Mes.  Mistress,  upon  my  life  I  tell  you  true ; 


2  00  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

I  have  not  breathed  ahnost  since  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you,  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you, 
To  scorch  your  face,  and  to  disfigure  you. 

\Cry  within. 
Hark,  hark  !  I  hear  him,  mistress ;  fly,  be  gone  ! 

Duke.  Come,  stand  by  me;  fear  nothing.    Guard  with 
halberds. 

Adr.  Ah  me,  it  is  my  husband  !     Witness  you, 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible ; 
Even  now  we  housed  him  in  the  abbey  here. 
And  now  he's  there,  past  thought  of  human  reason. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

E.  Ant.  Justice,  most  gracious   duke;  oh,  grant  me 
justice ! 
Even  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee, 
When  I  bestrid  thee  in  the  wars,  and  took 
Deep  scars  to  save  thy  life ;  even  for  the  blood 
That  then  I  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 

Mer.  Fath.  Unless  the  fear  of  death  doth  make  me 
dote,  I  see  my  son  Antipholus  and  Dromio. 

E.  Ant.  Justice,  sweet  prince,  against  that  woman 
there. 
She  whom  thou  gav'st  to  me  to  be  my  wife, 
That  hath  abused  and  dishonoured  me, 
Even  in  the  strength  and  height  of  injury ! 
Beyond  imagination  is  the  wrong 
That  she  this  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me. 

Duke.  Discover  how,  and  thou  shalt  find  me  just. 

E.  Ant.  This  day,  great  duke,  she   shut  the  doors 
upon  me. 
While  she  with  harlots  feasted  in  my  house. 

Duke.  A    grievous   fault.     Say,  woman,   didst    thou 
so } 

Adr.  No,  my  good  lord.     Myself,  he,  and  my  sister 
To-day  did  dine  together.     So  befall  my  soul. 
As  this  is  false  he  burdens  me  withal ! 

Luc.  Ne'er  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night. 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  truth ! 


Plate  26 
'OH.  BIND  HIM.  BIND  HIM,  LET  HIM  NOT  COME  NEAR  ME" 

The  Comedy  of  Errors,  act  iv..  scene  iv. 


THE  COMEDY  OE  ERRORS  201 

Gold.  Oh,  perjured  woman!    They  are  both  forsworn. 
In  this  the  madman  justly  chargeth  them. 

E.  Ant.  My  liege,  I  am  advised  what  I  say : 
Neither  disturbed  with  the  effect  of  wine, 
Nor  heady  rash,  provoked  with  raging  ire, 
Albeit  my  wrongs  might  make  one  wiser  mad. 
This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  day  from  dinner; 
That  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  pack'd  with  her, 
Could  witness  it,  for  he  was  with  me  then  ; 
Who  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain, 
Promising  to  bring  it  to  the  Porpentine, 
Where  Balthazar  and  I  did  dine  together. 
Our  dinner  done,  and  he  not  coming  thither, 
I  went  to  seek  him.     In  the  street  I  met  him, 
And  in  his  company  that  gentleman. 
There  did  this  perjured  goldsmith  swear  me  down, 
That  I  this  day  of  him  received  the  chain. 
Which  God  he  knows  I  saw  not.     For  the  which 
He  did  arrest  me  with  an  officer. 
I  did  obey,  and  sent  my  peasant  home 
For  certain  ducats  :  he  with  none  return'd. 
Then  fairly  I  bespoke  the  officer 
To  go  in  person  with  me  to  my  house. 
By  the  way  we  met  my  wife,  her  sister,  and  a  rabble  more 

Of  vile  confederates ;  along  with  them 

They  brought  one  Pinch;  a  hungry,  lean-faced  villain, 

A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank,' 

A  threadbare  juggler  and  a  fortune-teller; 

A  needy,  hollow-eyed,  sharp-looking  wretch, 

A  living  dead  man.     This  pernicious  slave, 

Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer; 

And,  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse, 

And  with  no  face  as  'twere  outfacing  me. 

Cries  out  I  was  possess'd.     Then  altogether 

They  fell  upon  me,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence, 

And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 

There  left  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together, 

Till,_ gnawing  with  my  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder,' 

I  gam'd  my  freedom,  and  immediately 

Ran  hither  to  your  grace,  whom  I  beseech 


2  02  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

To  give  me  ample  satisfaction 

For  these  deep  shames  and  great  indignities. 

Gold.  My  lord,  in  truth,  thus  far  I  witness  with  him : 
That  he  dined  not  at  home,  but  was  lock'd  out. 

Duke.  But  had  he  such  a  chain  of  thee,  or  no  ? 

Gold.  He  had,  mv  lord:  and  when  he  ran  in  here 
These  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck. 

Mcr.  Besides,  I  will  be  sworn  these  ears  of  mine 
Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  him, 
After  you  first  foreswore  it  on  the  mart, 
And  thereupon  I  drew  my  sword  on  you, 
And  then  you  fled  into  this  abbey  here, 
From  whence  I  think  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

E.  Ant.  I  never  came  within  these  abbey  walls, 
Nor  ever  didst  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me. 
I  never  saw  the  chain,  so  help  me  Heaven  ! 
And  this  is  false  you  burden  me  withal. 

Dtike.  Why,  what  an  intricate  impeach  is  this ! 
I  think  you  all  have  drunk  of  Circe's  cup. 
If  here  you  housed  him,  here  he  would  have  been ; 
If  he  were  mad  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly. 
You  say  he  dined  at  home ;  the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  saying.     Sirrah,  what  say  you  ? 

E.  Dro.  Sir,  he  dined  with  her  there,  at  the  Porpentine. 

Cottr.   He  did  ;  and  from  my  finger  snatched  that  ring. 

E.Ant.  'Tis  true,  my  liege,  this  ring  I  had  of  her. 

Duke.  Saw'st  thou  him  enter  at  the  abbey  here  ? 

Cour.  As  sure,  my  liege,  as  I  do  see  your  grace. 

Duke.  Why,  this  is  strange. — Go,  call  the  abbess  hither; 
I  think  you  are  all  mated  or  stark  mad. 

\_Exit  one  to  the  Abbess. 

Uler.  Fat/i.  Most  mighty  duke,  vouchsafe  me  speak  a 
word ; 
Haply  I  see  a  friend  will  save  my  life. 
And  pay  the  sum  that  may  deliver  me. 

Duke.  Speak  freely,  Syracusan,  what  thou  wilt. 

Mer.  Fath.  Is  not  your  name,  sir,  calTd  Antipholus.'' 
And  is  not  that  your  bondman  Dromio } 

E.  Dro.  Within  this  hour  I  was  his  bondman,  sir, 
But  he,  I  thank  him,  gnaw'd  in  two  my  cords; 
Now  am  I  Dromio,  and  his  man,  unbound. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  203 

Mer.  Path.  I  am   sure   you   both   of  you   remember 
me. 

E.  Dro.  Ourselves,  we  do  remember,  sir,  by  you, 
For  lately  we  were  bound  as  you  are  now. 
You  are  not  Pinch's  patient,  are  you,  sir? 

Mer.  Fath.  Why  look  you  strange  on  me  ?  you  know 
me  well. 

E.  Ant.  I  never  saw  you  in  my  life  till  now. 

Me7\  Fath.   Oh  !   grief  hath  changed   me   since   you 
saw  me  last ; 
And  careful  hours,  with  Time's  deformed  hand, 
Have  written  strange  defeatures  in  my  face : 
But  tell  me  yet,  dost  thou  not  know  my  voice .? 

E.  Ant.  Neither. 

Mer.  Fath.  Dromio,  nor  thou  ? 

E.  Dro.  No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  I. 

Mer.  Fath.  I  am  sure  thou  dost. 

E.  Dro.  Ay,  sir,  but  I  am  sure  I  do  not ;  and  whatso- 
ever a  man  denies,  you  are  now  bound  to  believe  him. 

Mer.  Fath.  Not  know  my  voice  !    O  Time's  extremity  ! 
Hast  thou  so  crack'd  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue 
In  seven  short  years,  that  here  my  only  son 
Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untuned  cares  ? 
Though  now  this  grained  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sap-consuming  winter's  drizzled  snow. 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up, 
Yet  hath  my  night  of  life  some  memory, 
My  wasting  lamps  some  fading  glimmer  left, 
My  dull  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear; 
All  these  old  witnesses  (I  cannot  err) 
Tell  me  thou  art  my  son  Antipholus. 

E.  Ant.  I  never  saw  my  father  in  my  life. 

Mer.  Fath.  But  seven  years  since,  in  Syracusa,  boy, 
Thou  know'st  we  parted  :  but,  perhaps,  my  son. 
Thou  sham'st  to  acknowledge  me  in  misery. 

E.  Ant.  The  duke,  and  all  that  know  me  in  the  city, 
Can  witness  with  me  that  it  is  not  so; 
I  ne'er  saw  Syracusa  in  my  life. 

Dtike.  I  tell  thee,  Syracusan,  twenty  years 
Have  I  been  patron  to  Antipholus, 


2  04  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

During  which  time  he  ne'er  saw  Syracusa. 
I  see  thy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dote. 

Enter  the  Abbess,  with  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  and 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Abb.  Most  mighty  duke,  behold  a  man  much  wrong  d. 

\_A II gather  to  see  him. 

Adr.   I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine  eyes  deceive  me. 

Duke.  One  of  these  men  is  genius  to  the  other; 
And  so,  of  these,  which  is  the  natural  man, 
And  which  the  spirit?    Who  deciphers  them .? 

S.  Dro.   I,  sir,  am  Dromio;  command  him  away. 

E.  Dro.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio ;  pray,  let  me  stay. 

S.Ant.  ^geon  art  thou  not?  or  else  his  ghost? 

6^.  Dro.  Oh,  my   old    master,  who    hath    bound    him 
here? 

Abb.  Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  loose  his  bonds. 
And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty. 
Speak,  old  ^^igeon,  if  thou  be'st  the  man 
That  hadst  a  wife  once  called  Emilia, 
That  bore  thee  at  a  burden  two  fair  sons ; 
Oh,  if  thou  be'st  the  same  yEgeon,  speak. 
And  speak  unto  the  same  yEmilia! 

Duke.  Why,  here  begins  his  morning  story  right; 
These  two  Antipholuses,  these  two  so  alike. 
And  these  two  Dromios,  one  in  semblance. 
Besides  her  urging  of  her  wreck  at  sea. 
These  are  the  parents  to  these  children, 
Which  accidentally  are  met  together. 

Mer.  Fath.  If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  ^Emilia; 
If  thou  art  she,  tell  me,  where  is  that  son 
That  floated  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft  ? 

Abb.  By  men  of  Epidamnum,  he  and  I 
And  the  twin  Dromio,  all  were  taken  up ; 
But,  by-and-by,  rude  fishermen  of  Corinth 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  them, 
And  me  they  left  with  those  of  Epidamnum. 
What  then  became  of  them  I  cannot  tell : 
I,  to  this  fortune  that  you  see  me  in. 


Plate  27 
METHINKS  YOU  ARE  MY  GLASS,  AND  NOT  MY  BROTHER" 
The  Comedy  of  Errors,  act  v.,  scene  i. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  205 

Duke.  Antipholus,  thou  cam'st  from  Corinth  first. 

S.  Ant.   No,  sir,  not  I ;  I  came  from  Syracuse. 

Duke.  Stay,  stand  apart;  I  know  not  which  is  which. 

E.  Ant.  I  came  from  Corinth,  my  most  gracious  lord. 

E.  Dro.  And  I  with  him. 

E.  Ant.  Brought  to  this  town  by  that  most  famous 
warrior 
Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  renowned  uncle. 

Adi\  Which  of  you  two  did  dine  with  me  to-day  1 

S.  Ant.  I,  gentle  mistress. 

Adv.  And  are  not  you  my  husband.'* 

E.  Ant.  No,  I  say  nay  to  that. 

S.  Ant.  And  so  do  I,  yet  did  she  call  me  so; 
And  this  fair  gentlewoman,  her  sister  here, 
Did  call  me  brother.     What  I  told  you  then, 
I  hope  I  shall  have  leisure  to  make  good, 
If  this  be  not  a  dream  I  see  and  hear. 

Gold.  That  is  the  chain,  sir,  which  you  had  of  me. 

S.  Ant.  I  think  it  be,  sir;  I  deny  it  not. 

E.  Ant.  And  you,  sir,  for  this  chain  arrested  me. 

Gold.  I  think  I  did,  sir;  I  deny  it  not. 

Adr.  I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail, 
By  Dromio ;  but  I  think  he  brought  it  not. 

E.  Dro.  No,  none  by  me. 

6".  Ant.  This  purse  of  ducats  I  received  from  you. 
And  Dromio  my  man  did  bring  them  me. 
I  see  we  still  did  meet  each  other's  man, 
And  I  was  ta'en  for  him,  and  he  for  me, 
And  thereupon  these  errors  are  arose. 

E.  Ant.  These  ducats  pawn  I  for  my  father  here. 

Duke.  It  shall  not  need,  thy  father  hath  his  life. 

Cour.  Sir,  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

E.  Ant.  There,  take    it ;  and    much   thanks   for    my 
good  cheer. 

Add.  Renowned  duke,  vouchsafe  to  take  the  pains 
To  go  with  us  into  the  abbey  here 
And  hear  at  large  discoursed  all  our  fortunes. 
And  all  that  are  assembled  in  this  place. 
That  by  this  sympathized  one  day's  error 
Have  suffer'd  wrong,  go,  keep  us  company, 


2o6  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

And  we  shall  make  full  satisfaction. 
Thirty-three  years  have  I  but  gone  in  travail 
Of  you,  my  sons,  and  till  this  present  hour 
My  heavy  burdens  are  delivered. 
The  duke,  my  husband,  and  my  children  both, 
And  you  the  calendars  of  their  nativity, 
Go  to  a  gossip's  feast,  and  go  with  me ; 
After  so  long  grief,  such  nativity  ! 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart,  I'll  gossip  at  this  feast. 

\_Exe2n1t  omiies,  niaiiet  the  hvo  Dromios 
and  hvo  Brothers. 

6".  Dro.  Master,  shall   I   fetch  your  stuff  from  ship- 
board ? 

E.  Ant.  Dromio,  what  stuff  of  mine  hast  thou  em- 
bark'd } 

S.  Dro.  Your  goods  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  in  the  Cen- 
taur. 

S.  Ant.  He  speaks  to  me  ;  I  am  your  master,  Dromio  ; 
Come,  go  with  us :  we'll  look  to  that  anon. 
Embrace  thy  brother  there,  rejoice  with  him.  \_Exit. 

S.  Dro.  There  is  a  fat  friend  at  your  master's  house, 
That  kitchen'd  me  for  you  to-day  at  dinner; 
She  now  shall  be  my  sister,  not  my  wife. 

E.  Dro.  Methinks    you   are    my   glass,  and    not    my 
brother : 
I  see  by  you  I  am  a  sweet-faced  youth. 
Will  you  walk  in  to  see  their  gossiping.? 

.5'.  Dro.  Not  I,  sir ;  you  are  my  elder. 

E.  Dro.  That's  a  question  :  how  shall  we  try  it  ? 

6^.  Dro.  We'll   draw  cuts  for   the   senior :    till  then, 
lead  thou  first. 

E.  Dro.  Nay  ;  then  thus  : 
We  came  into  the  world  like  brother  and  brother; 
And  now  let's  go   hand   in   hand,  not   one   before  an- 
other. \_Exeunt. 


The  Tempest 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED 

Alonzo,  King  of  Naples. 

Sebastian,  his  Brother. 

Prospero,  the  rightful  Duke  of  Milan. 

Antonio,    his   BrotJier,    the    usurping  Duke 

of  Milan. 
Ferdinand,  Son  to  the  King  of  Naples. 
GoNZALO,  an  honest  old  Counsellor  of  Naples. 

Adrian       )   7-     ^ 

T-  >  Lords. 

Francisco  ) 

Caliban,  a  savage  atid  dcfonncd  Slave. 

Trinculo  a  Jester. 

Stephano,  a  drunken  Butler. 

Master  of  a  Ship,  Boatswain,  and  Mariners. 

Miranda,  Daughter  to  Prospero. 

Ariel,  an  airy  Spirit. 

Iris         1 

Ceres      | 

Juno         \-  Spirits. 

Nymphs   | 

Reapers  J 

Other  Spirits  attending  on  Prospero. 

Scene,  the  Sea,  with  a  Ship ;  afterwards  an 
uninhabited  Island. 


The  Tempest 


ACT    I 

Scene  I. — A  tempestuous  noise  of  thunder  and  lightning 
heard.     Enter  a  Ship-master  ^;/</rt;  Boatswain. 

MASTER.  Boatswain. 
Boats.   Here,  master;  what  cheer.? 
Mast.  Good ;  speak  to  the  mariners.     Fall 
to't  yarely,  or  we  run  ourselves  aground.     Bestir !  be- 
stir !  {^Exit. 

Enter  Mariners. 

Boats.  Heigh,  my  hearts  ;  cheerly,  cheerly,  my  hearts  ; 
yare,  yare.  Take  in  the  top-sail.  Tend  to  the  master's 
whistle.    Blow  till  thou  burst  thy  wind,  if  room  enough  ! 

Enter  Alonzo,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Ferdinando,  Gon- 
ZALO,  and  others. 

Alon.  Good  Boatswain,  have  care.  Where's  the  mas- 
ter ?     Play  the  men. 

Boats.  I  pray  now,  keep  below. 

Ant.  Where  is  the  master,  boatswain  ? 

Boats.  Do  you  not  hear  him  }  You  mar  our  labour! 
Keep  your  cabins  ;  you  do  assist  the  storm. 

Gonz.  Nay,  good,  be  patient. 

Boats.  When  the  sea  is.  Hence !  What  care  these 
roarers  for  the  name  of  king.?  To  cabin;  silence; 
trouble  us  not. 

Gonz.  Good ;  yet  remember  whom  thou  hast  aboard. 


2IO  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Boats.  None  that  I  more  love  than  myself.  You  are 
a  counsellor.  If  you  can  command  these  elements  to 
silence,  and  work  the  peace  of  the  present,  we  will  not 
hand  a  rope  more ;  use  your  authority.  If  you  cannot, 
give  thanks  you  have  lived  so  long,  and  make  yourself 
ready  in  your  cabin  for  the  mischance  of  the  hour,  if  it 
so  hap. — Cheerly,  good  hearts. — Out  of  our  way,  I  say. 

S^Exit. 

Gonz.  I  have  great  comfort  from  this  fellow;  me- 
thinks  he  hath  no  drowning  mark  upon  him ;  his  com- 
plexion is  perfect  gallows.  Stand  fast,  good  fate,  to 
his  hanging !  Make  the  rope  of  his  destiny  our  cable, 
for  our  own  doth  little  advantage  !  If  he  be  not  born 
to  be  hanged,  our  case  is  miserable.  \Exit. 

Enter  Boatswain. 

Boats.  Down  with  the  top-mast ;  yare ;  lower,  lower ; 
bring  her  to  try  with  main  course.  A  plague  upon  this 
howling !  they  are  louder  than  the  weather,  or  our  ofBce. 

A  cry  within.   Enter  Sebastian,  Antonio,  and  Gonzalo. 

Yet  again  !  what  do  you  here }  Shall  we  give  o'er  and 
drown  }     Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  ? 

Seb.  A  pox  o'  your  throat,  you  bawling,  blasphemous, 
uncharitable  dog ! 

Boats.  Work  you,  then. 

Ant.  Hang,  cur,  hang !  you  whoreson,  insolent  noise- 
maker  ;  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned  than  thou  art. 

Gonz.  I'll  warrant  him  from  drowning,  though  the 
ship  were  no  stronger  than  a  nut-shell,  and  as  leaky  as 
an  unstanched  wench. 

Boats.  Lay  her  a-hold,  a-hold  ;  set  her  two  courses ; 
off  to  sea  again,  lay  her  off ! 

Enter  Mariners,  wet. 

Mar.  All  lost !  to  prayers,  to  prayers  !  all  lost ! 
Boats.  What,  must  our  mouths  be  cold  ? 


Plate  28 
THE   SHIPWRECK 

The  Tempest,  atf  i. ,  scene  i. 


THE    TEMPEST  211 

Gonz.  The   king  and  prince  at  prayers!   let's  assist 
them, 
For  our  case  is  theirs. 
Seb.  I'm  out  of  patience. 

Ant.  We  are  merely  cheated  of  our  lives  by  drunk- 
ards.— 

This  wide -chopped    rascal;    would    thou    might'st  lie 

drowning, 
The  washing  of  ten  tides ! 

Gonz.  He'll  be  hanged  yet ; 

Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it. 
And  gape  at  wid'st  to  glut  him.  \_A  confused  noise  within. 

Mercy  on  us! 
VVe  split,  we  split!     Farewell,  my  wife  and  children  i 
Farewell,  brother !     We  split,  we  split,  we  split ! 
Ant.  Let's  all  sink  with  the  king. 
Seb.  Let's  take  leave  of  him.  \Exit. 

Gonz.  Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of  sea 
for  an  acre  of  barren  ground ;  long  heath,  brown  furze 
anythmg.     The  wills  above  be  done !  but  I  would  fain 
die  a  dry  death.  j-^^^y^ 

Scene   II. — Enter  Prospero  and  Miranda. 

Mir.  If  by  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  vou  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  them. 
The  sky,  it  seems,  would  pour  down  stinking  pitch. 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  cheek, 
Dashes  the  fire  out.     Oh,  I  have  suffered 
With  those  that  I  saw  suffer !     A  brave  vessel, 
Who  had  no  doubt  some  noble  creature  in  her, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces.     Oh,  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart !     Poor  souls !  they  perished. 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would 
Have  sunk  the  sea  within  the  earth,  or  e'er 
It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallowed,  and 
The  fraughting  souls  within  her, 

^,  ^^^•^-  Be  collected. 

No  more  amazement.     Tell  your  piteous  heart 
There's  no  harm  done. 


2  12  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Mir.  Oh,  woe  the  day  ! 

Pros.  No  harm. 

I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee 
(Of  thee,  my  dear  one !  thee,  my  daughter),  who 
Art  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  naught  knowing 
Of  whence  I  am ;  nor  that  I  am  more  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell, 
And  thy  no  greater  father, 

Mir.  More  to  know 

Did  never  meddle  with  my  thoughts. 

Pros.  'Tis  time 

I  should  inform  thee  further.     Lend  thy  hand, 
And  pluck  my  magic  garment  from  me.     So : 
Lie  there,  my  art.     Wipe  thou  thine  eyes,  have  com- 
fort. 
The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd 
The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thee, 
I  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 
So  safely  ordered,  that  there  is  no  soul, 
No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  an  hair, 
Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel 
Which  thou  heard'st  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink.     Sit 

down  ; 
For  thou  must  now  know  further. 

Mir.  You  have  often 

Begun  to  tell  me  what  I  am,  but  stopp'd 
And  left  me  to  a  bootless  inquisition. 
Concluding,  Stay,  not  yet. 

Pros.  The  hour's  now  come  ; 

The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear ; 
Obey,  and  be  attentive.     Canst  thou  remember 
A  time  before  we  came  unto  this  cell } 
I  do  not  think  thou  canst ;  for  then  thou  wast  not 
But  three  years  old. 

Alir.  Certainly,  sir,  I  can. 

Pros.  By  what  ?  by  any  other  house,  or  person  ? 
Of  any  thing  the  image,  tell  me,  that 
Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Mir.  'Tis  far  off ; 

And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance 


THE   TEMPEST  213 

That  my  remembrance  warrants.     Had  I  not 
Four  or  five  women  once  that  tended  me  ? 

Pros.  Thou  hadst,  and  more,  Miranda.    But  how  is  it 
That  this  Hves  in  thy  mind  ?     What  seest  thou  else 
In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time? 
If  thou  remember'st  aught  ere  thou  cam  st  here, 
How  thou  cam'st  here  thou  may  st. 

Mir.  But  that  I  do  not. 

Pros.  Twelve  years  since,  Miranda,  twelve  years  since, 
Thy  father  was  the  Duke  of  Milan,  and 
A  prince  of  power. 

Mir.  Sir,  are  not  you  my  father  ? 

Pros.  Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said  thou  wast  my  daughter ;  and  thy  father 
Was  Duke  of  Milan ;  and  his  only  heir 
And  princess;  no  worse  issued. 

Mir.  Oh,  the  heavens  ! 

W' hat  foul  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence .? 
Or  blessed  was't  we  did  ? 

Pi'os.  Both,  both,  my  girl. 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  where  we  heaved  thence ; 
But  blessedly  helped  hither. 

Mir.  Oh,  my  heart  bleeds 

To  think  o'  the  teen  that  I  have  turned  you  to. 
Which  is  from  my  remembrance !     Please  you,  further. 

Pros.  My  brother,  and  thy  uncle,  call'd  Antonio — 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me,  that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious ! — he  whom,  next  thyself, 
Of  all  the  world  I  loved,  and  to  him  put 
The  manage  of  my  state ;  as,  at  that  time, 
Through  all  the  signories  it  was  the  first, 
And  Prospero,  the  prime  duke,  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity,  and,  for  the  liberal  arts. 
Without  a  parallel ;  those  being  all  my  study, 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother, 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported 
And  wrapped  in  secret  studies.     Thy  false  uncle — 
Dost  thou  attend  me } 

Mir.  Sir,  most  heedfully. 

Pros.  Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits, 


214  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

How  to  deny  them ;  whom  to  advance,  and  whom. 

To  trash  for  overtopping ;  new  created 

The  creatures  that  were  mine ;  I  say,  or  changed  them, 

Or  else  new  formed  them ;  having  both  the  key 

Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts  i'  th'  state 

To  what  tune  pleased  his  ear;  that  now  he  was 

The  ivy,  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk. 

And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on't.     Thou  attend'st  not. 

Mir  a.  Oh,  good  sir,  I  do. 

Pros.  I  pray  thee,  mark  me. 

I  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness,  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that  which,  but  by  being  so  retired, 
O'er-prized  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  brother 
Awaked  an  evil  nature ;  and  my  trust, 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  him 
A  falsehood,  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was;  which  had,  indeed,  no  limit — 
A  confidence  sans  bound.     He  being  thus  lorded, 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded. 
But  what  my  power  might  else  exact — like  one 
Who,  having  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it, 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory, 
To  credit  his  own  lie — he  did  believe 
He  was  indeed  the  duke ;  out  of  the  substitution. 
And  executing  the  outward  face  of  royalty, 
With  all  prerogative.     Hence  his  ambition  growing — 
Dost  thou  hear.? 

Mir.  Your  tale,  sir,  would  cure  deafness. 

Pros.  To  have  no  screen  between  this  part  he  play'd 
And  him  he  play'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan.     Me,  poor  man  ! — my  library 
Was  dukedom  large  enough ;  of  temporal  royalties 
He  thinks  me  now  incapable.     Confederates 
(So  dry  he  was  for  sway)  with  King  of  Naples, 
To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage ; 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown,  and  bend 
The  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd  (alas,  poor  Milan  !) 
To  most  ignoble  stooping. 

Mir.  Oh,  the  heavens  ! 


THE    TEMPEST  215 

Pros.  Mark  his  condition,  and  the  event;  then  tell 
me 
If  this  might  be  a  brother. 

Mir.  I  should  sin 

To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother. 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons. 

Pros.  Now  the  condition. 

This  king  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  hearkens  my  brother's  suit ; 
Which  was,  that  he  in  lieu  o'  the  premises — 
Of  homage,  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute — 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom,  and  confer  fair  Milan 
With  all  the  honours  on  my  brother.     Whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight, 
Fated  to  the  purpose,  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan ;  and,  i'  the  dead  of  darkness, 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me  and  thy  crying  self. 

Mir.  Alack,  for  pity  ! 

I,  not  rememb 'ring  how  I  cried  out  then, 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again  ;  it  is  a  hint 
That  wrings  mine  eyes  to't. 

Pros.  Hear  a  little  further, 

And  then  I'll  bring  thee  to  the  present  business 
Which  now's  upon  us;  without  the  which  this  story 
W^ere  most  impertinent. 

Mir.  Wherefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us } 

Pros.  Well  demanded,  wench  ; 

My  tale  provokes  that  question.     Dear,  they  durst  not 
(So  dear  the  love  my  people  bore  me),  nor  set 
A  mark  so  bloody  on  the  business ;  but 
With  colours  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 
In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark; 
Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea,  where  they  prepared 
A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  rigg'd. 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 
Instinctively  had  quit  it.     There  they  hoist  us 
To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  us ;  to  sigh 


2i6  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

To  the  winds,  whose  pity,  sighing  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong. 

Mir.  Alack  !  what  trouble 

Was  1  then  to  you  ? 

Pros.  Oh  !  a  cherubim 

Thou  wast,  that  did  preserve  me !     Thou  didst  smile, 
Infuse  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 
When  I  have  deck'd  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt. 
Under  my  burden  groan'd,  which  raised  in  me 
An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue. 

Mir.  How  came  we  ashore  ? 

Pros.  By  Providence  divine. 
Some  food  we  had,  and  some  fresh  water,  that 
A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Out  of  his  charity  (who  being  then  appointed 
Master  of  this  design)  did  give  us,  with 
Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries. 
Which  since  have  steaded  much ;  so,  of  his  gentleness, 
Knowing  I  loved  my  books,  he  furnish'd  me 
From  my  own  library  with  volumes  that 
I  prize  above  my  dukedom. 

Mir.  Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  man  ! 

Pros.  Now  I  arise. 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  this  island  we  arrived  ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  school-master,  made  thee  more  profit 
Than  other  princesses  can  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful. 

Mir.  Heaven  thank  you  for't !     And  now  I  pray  you, 
sir 
(For  still  'tis  beating  in  my  mind),  your  reason 
For  raising  this  sea-storm  ? 

Pros.  Know  thus  far  forth 

By  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  fortune. 
Now  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore ;  and  by  my  prescience 
I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon 
A  most  auspicious  star  ;  whose  influence 


PlA'J  E   29 

WHERE   SHOULD   THIS   MUSIC   BE?" 

The  Tempest,  act  i. ,  sceiif  ii. 


^^     Irvll 


THE    TEMPEST  217 

If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop.     Here  cease  more  questions ; 
Th<3u  art  inclined  to  sleep;  'tis  a  good  dulness, 
And  give  it  way.     I  know  thou  canst  not  choose. 
Come  away,  servant,  come.     I  am  ready  now ; 
Approach,  my  Ariel ;  come. 

Enter  Ariel. 

Ariel.  All    hail,   great    master!    grave    sir,   hail!     I 
come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure ;  be't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds :  to  thy  strong  bidding,  task 
Ariel  and  all  his  quality. 

Pros.  Hast  thou,  spirit, 

Perform'd  to  point  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee  ? 

Ariel.  To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship;  now  on  the  beak, 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flamed  amazement.     Sometimes  I'd  divide, 
And  burn  in  many  places  ;  on  the  top-mast, 
The  yards,  and  bowsprit  would  I  flame  distinctly. 
Then  meet  and  join.    Jove's  lightnings,  the  precursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight  out-running  were  not ;  the  fire,  and  cracks 
Of  sulphurous  roaring,  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
Seem'd  to  besiege,  and  make  his  bold  waves  tremble  ; 
Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake. 

Pros.  My  brave  spirit  I 

Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil 
Would  not  infect  his  reason  .^^ 

Ariel.  Not  a  soul 

But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad,  and  play'd 
Some  tricks  of  desperation.     All  but  mariners 
Plunged  in  the  foaming  brine,  and  quit  the  vessel; 
Then  all  a-fire  with  me.     The  king's  son,  Ferdinand, 
With  hair  up-staring  (then  like  reeds,  not  hair) 
Was  the  first  man  that  leap'd ;  cried,  Hell  is  empty. 
And  all  the  devils  are  here. 


2i8  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Pj'OS.  Why,  that's  my  spirit ! 

But  was  not  this  nigh  shore  ? 

Ariel.  Close  by,  my  master. 

Pros.   But  are  they,  Ariel,  safe? 

Ariel.  Not  a  hair  perish'd  ; 

On  their  sustaining  garments  not  a  blemish, 
But  fresher  than  before.     And  as  thou  bad'st  me. 
In  troops  I  have  dispers'd  them  'bout  the  isle. 
The  king's  son  have  I  landed  by  himself, 
Whom  I  left  cooling  of  the  air  with  sighs, 
In  an  odd  angle  of  the  isle,  and  sitting, 
His  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 

Pros.  Of  the  king's  ship, 

The  mariners,  say  how  thou  hast  dispos'd, 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  fleet. 

Ariel.  Safely  in  harbour 

Is  the  king's  ship ;  in  the  deep  nook  where  once 
Thou  call'st  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still  vex'd  Bermoothes,  there  she's  hid. 
The  mariners  all  under  hatches  stow'd ; 
Whom,  with  a  charm  join'd  to  their  suffer'd  labour, 
I  have  left  asleep.     And  for  the  rest  o'  the  fleet, 
Which  I  dispersed,  they  all  have  met  again. 
And  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  flote, 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples, 
Supposing  that  they  saw  the  king's  ship  wreck'd 
And  his  great  person  perish. 

Pros.  Ariel,  thy  charge 

Exactly  is  performed ;  but  there's  more  work. 
What  is  the  time  o'  the  day } 

Ariel.  Past  the  mid  season. 

Pros.  At  least  two  glasses :  the  time  'twixt  six  and 
now 
Must  by  us  both  be  spent  most  preciously. 

Ariel.   Is  there  more  toil }  since  thou  dost  sfive  me 
pains, 
Let  me  remember  thee  what  thou  hast  promis'd, 
Which  is  not  yet  perform'd  me. 

Pros.  How  now }  moody  } 

What  is't  thou  canst- demand  ? 


THE    TEMPEST  219 

Arid.  My  liberty. 

Pros.  Before  the  time  be  out  ?  no  more. 

Aj^iel.  I  prithee 

Remember,  I  have  done  thee  worthy  service ; 
Told  thee  no  lies,  made  thee  no  mistakings,  served 
Without  or  grudge  or  grumblings ;  thou  did  promise 
To  bate  me  a  full  year. 

Pros.  Dost  thou  forget 

From  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee } 

Ariel.  No. 

Pros.  Thou  dost ;  and  think'st  it  much  to  tread  the 
ooze 
Of  the  salt  deep  ; 

To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north  ; 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  the  earth 
When  it  is  bak'd  with  frost. 

Ariel.  I  do  not,  sir. 

Pros'.  Thou  liest,  malignant  thing !    Hast  thou  forgot 
The  foul  witch,  Sycorax,  who,  with  age  and  envy 
Was  grown  into  a  hoop  ?  hast  thou  forgot  her } 

Ariel.  No,  sir. 

Pros.  Thou  hast :  where  was  she  born  .f*'  speak ;  tell 
me. 

Ariel.  Sir,  in  Argier. 

Pros.  Oh,  was  she  so }  I  must 

Once  in  a  month  recount  what  thou  hast  been. 
Which  thou  forget'st.     This  damn'd  witch  Sycorax, 
For  mischiefs  manifold,  and  sorceries  terrible 
To  enter  human  hearing,  from  Argier, 
Thou  know'st,  was  banish'd :  for  one  thing  she  did 
They  would  not  take  her  life.     Is  not  this  true  t 

Ariel.  Ay,  sir. 

Pros.  This  blue-eyed  hag  was  hither  brought  with 
child, 
And  here  was  left  by  th'  sailors.     Thou,  my  slave, 
As  thou  report'st  thyself,  was  then  her  servant ; 
And,  for  thou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 
To  act  her  earthy  and  abhorr'd  commands, 
Refusing  her  grand  bests,  she  did  confine  thee, 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers. 


2  20  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

And  in  her  most  unmitigable  rage, 

Into  a  cloven  pine ;  within  which  rift 

Imprison'd,  thou  didst  painfully  remain 

A  dozen  years;  within  which  space  she  died, 

And  left  thee  there,  where  thou  didst  vent  thy  groans 

As  fast  as  mill-wheels  strike.     Then  was  this  island 

(Save  for  the  son  that  she  did  litter  here, 

A  freckled  whelp,  hag-born)  not  honour'd  with 

A  human  shape. 

Ariel.  Yes  ;  Caliban,  her  son. 

Pros.  Dull  thing,  I  say  so :  he,  that  Caliban, 
Whom  now  I  keep  in  service.     Thou  best  know'st 
What  torment  I  did  find  thee  in.     Thy  groans 
Did  make  wolves  howl,  and  penetrate  the  breasts 
Of  ever-angry  bears.     It  was  a  torment 
To  lay  upon  the  damn'd,  which  Sycorax 
Could  not  again  undo.     It  was  mine  art. 
When  I  arrived  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gape 
The  pine,  and  let  thee  out. 

Ariel.  I  thank  thee,  master. 

Pros.  If  thou  more  murmur  st,  I  will  rend  an  oak 
And  peg  thee  in  its  knotty  entrails  till 
Thou  hast  howl'd  away  twelve  winters. 

Ariel.  Pardon,  master. 

I  will  be  correspondent  to  command, 
And  do  my  sprighting  gently. 

Pros.  Do  so ;  and  after  two  days 

I  will  discharo^e  thee. 

Ariel,  That's  my  noble  master ! 

What  shall  I  do.?  say  what.?  what  shall  I  do.? 

Pros.  Go,  make  thyself  like  a  nymph  o'  the  sea ; 
Be  subject  to  no  sight  but  thine  and  mine;  invisible 
To  every  eyeball  else.     Go,  take  this  shape, 
And  hither  come  in't;  go  hence 

With  diligence.  \Exit  Ariel. 

Awake,  dear  heart,  awake !  thou  hast  slept  well ; 
Awake ! 

Mira.  The  strangeness  of  your  story  put 
Heaviness  in  me. 

Pros.  Shake  it  off.     Come  on  ; 


THE    TEMPEST  221 

We'll  visit  Caliban,  my  slave,  who  never 
Yields  us  kind  answer. 

Mir.  'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 

I  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Pros.  But,  as  'tis. 

We  cannot  miss  him ;  he  does  make  our  fire, 
Fetch  in  our  wood,  and  serves  in  offices 
That  profit  us.     What  ho!  slave!  Caliban  ! 
Thou  earth,  thou  !  speak. 

Cal.  \withhi\.  There's  wood  enough  within. 

Pros.  Come  forth,  I  say ,    there's  other  business  for 
thee. 
Come,  thou  tortoise  !  when  "l 

Enter  Ariel,  like  a  zvater-nymph. 

Fine  apparition  !     My  quaint  Ariel, 
Hark  in  thine  ear. 

Ariel.  My  lord,  it  shall  be  done.  \^Exit. 

Pros.  Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil  himself 
Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth  I 

Enter  Caliban. 

Cal.  As  wicked  dew  as  e'er  my  mother  brush'd 
With  raven's  feather  from  unwholesome  fen 
Drop  on  you  both  !  a  southwest  blow  on  ye. 
And  blister  you  all  o'er ! 

Pros.  For   this,  be   sure,  to-night    thou    shalt    have 
cramps. 
Side-stitches  that  shall  pen  thy  breath  up  ;  urchins 
Shall  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work 
All  exercise  on  thee.     Thou  shalt  be  pinch'd 
As  thick  as  honey-comb,  each  pinch  more  stinging 
Than  bees  that  made  'em. 

Cal.  I  must  eat  my  dinner. 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother. 
Which  thou  tak'st  from  me.     When  thou  cam'st  first, 
Thou  stroked'st  me,  and  made  much  of  me ;  wouldst 
give  me 


222  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Water  with  berries  in't ;  and  teach  me  how 

To  name  the  bigger  hght,  and  how  the  less, 

That  burn  by  day  and  night.     And  then  I  loved  thee, 

And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle. 

The  fresh  springs,  brine  pits,  barren  place,  and  fertile  ; 

Cursed  be  I  that  did  so !     All  the  charms 

Of  Sycorax,  toads,  beetles,  bats,  light  on  you ! 

For  I  am  all  the  subjects  that  you  have, 

Which  first  was  mine  own  king ;  and  here  you  sty  me 

In  this  hard  rock,  whiles  you  do  keep  from  me 

The  rest  o'  th'  island. 

P7^os.  Thou  most  lying  slave, 

Whom  stripes  may  move,  not  kindness  ;  I  have  used  thee. 
Filth  as  thou  art,  with  human  care  ;  and  lodged  thee 
In  mine  own  cell  till  thou  didst  seek  to  violate 
The  honour  of  my  child. 

Cal.  Oho,  oho ! — would  it  had  been  done. 
Thou  didst  prevent  me  ;  I  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

Mir.  Abhorred  slave, 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  wilt  not  take. 
Being  capable  of  all  ill,  I  pitied  thee. 
Took  pains  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee  each  hour 
One  thing  or  other;  when  thou  didst  not,  savage. 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  wouldst  gabble  like 
A  thing  most  brutish,  I  endow'd  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known.     But  thy  vile  race, 
Though  thou  didst  learn,   had  that  in't    which   good 

natures 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with  ;  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  confined  into  this  rock,  who  hadst 
Deserved  more  than  a  prison. 

Cal.  You  taught  me  language ;  and  my  profit  on't 
Is,  I  know  how  to  curse.     The  red  plague  rid  you 
For  learning  me  your  language  ! 

Pros.  Hag-seed,  hence  ! 

Fetch  us  in  fuel ;  and  be  quick,  thou  wert  best 
To  answer  other  business.     Shrug'st  thou,  malice  ? 
If  thou  neglect'st,  or  dost  unwillingly 
What  I  command,  I'll  rack  thee  with  old  cramps ; 


THE    TEMPEST  223 

Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches ;  make  thee  roar, 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din ! 

Cal.  No,  pray  thee. — 

I  must  obey ;  his  art  is  of  such  power 
It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

Pros.  So,  slave,  hence ! 

\_Exit  Caliban. 

Enter  Ferdinand  and  Ariel,  invisible,  playing  and 

singiiig. 

Ariel's  song. 

Come  tinio  these  yellow  sands. 

And  then  take  hands ; 
Court' sied  when  you  have,  and  kissd, 

{The  wild  waves  whisf). 
Foot  it  featly  here  and  there ; 
And,  sweet  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark! 
Bowgh,  wowgh,  the  watch-dogs  bark:         [Burden  dis- 
Bowgh,  wowgh.  persedly. 

Hark,  hark!    I  hear 
The  strain  of  strtetting  chanticleer 
Cry,  Cock-a-doodle-doo. 

Fer.  Where  should  this  music  be  ?  i'  th'  air  or  th' 
earth } 
It  sounds  no  more,  and  sure  it  waits  upon 
Some  god  o'  th'  island.     Sitting  on  a  bank, 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck. 
This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters. 
Allaying  both  their  fury  and  my  passion 
With  its  sweet  air.     Thence  I  have  follow'd  it, 
Or  it  hath  drawn  me  rather.     But  'tis  gone. 
No,  it  begins  again. 

Ariel's  song. 

Full  fathom  five  your  father  lies  : 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made. 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes: 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade. 


2  24  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell: 
Hark!  now  I  hear  them— ding-dong,  bell. 

[Burden,  ding-dong. 

Fei\  The  ditty  does  remember  my  drown'd  father. 
This  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sound 
That  the  earth  owes.     I  hear  it  now  above  me. 

Pi'os.  The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance, 
And  say  what  thou  seest  yond'. 

Mir.  What  is't .?  a  spirit } 

Lord,  how  it  looks  about !     Believe  me,  sir. 
It  carries  a  brave  form.     But  'tis  a  spirit. 

Pros.  No,  wench ;   it  eats  and  sleeps  and  hath  such 
senses 
As  we  have — such.    This  gallant  which  thou  seest 
Was  in  the  wreck ;  and  but  he's  something  stain'd 
With  grief,   that   beauty's   canker,   thou   might'st   call 

him 
A  goodly  person.     He  hath  lost  his  fellows. 
And  strays  about  to  find  'em. 

Mir.  I  might  call  him 

A  thing  divine  ;  for  nothing  natural 
I  ever  saw  so  noble. 

Pros.  It  goes  on,  I  see. 

As  my  soul  prompts  it.      Spirit,  fine    spirit!   I'll  free 

thee 
Within  two  days  for  this. 

Fcr.  Most  sure,  the  goddess 

On  whom  these  airs  attend. — Vouchsafe  my  prayer 
May  know  if  you  remain  upon  this  island ; 
And  that  you  will  some  good  instruction  give 
How  I  may  bear  me  here  ;  my  prime  request. 
Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is.  Oh,  you  wonder. 
If  you  be  maid  or  no } 

Mir.  No  wonder,  sir  ; 

But,  certainly,  a  maid. 

Fcr.  My  language  ?  heavens  ! 

I  am  the  best  of  them  that  speak  this  speech, 
Were  I  but  where  'tis  spoken. 


THE    TEMPEST  225 

Pros.  How !  the  best  ? 

What  wert  thou  if  the  King  of  Naples  heard  thee  ? 

Fer.  A  single  thing,  as  I  am  now,  that  wonders 
To  hear  thee  speak  of  Naples.     He  does  hear  me ; 
And,  that  he  does,  I  weep.     Myself  am  Naples, 
Who,  with  mine  eyes,  ne'er  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  king  my  father  wreck'd. 

Mir.  Alack,  for  mercy  ! 

Fer.  Yes,  faith,  and  all  his  lords;  the  Duke  of  Milan 
And  his  brave  son  being  twain. 

Pros.  The  Duke  of  Milan 

And  his  more  braver  daughter  could  control  thee 
If  now  'twere  fit  to  do't.     At  the  first  sight 
They  have  changed  eyes.     Delicate  Ariel, 
ril  set  thee  free  for  this  !     A  word,  good  sir ; 
I  fear  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong — a  word. 

Mir.  Why  speaks  my  father  so  ungently  ?     This 
Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw;  the  first 
That  e'er  I  sighed  for.     Pity  move  my  father 
To  be  inclined  my  way ! 

Fer.  Oh,  if  a  virgin, 

And  your  affection  not  gone  forth,  I'll  make  you 
The  Queen  of  Naples. 

Pros.  Soft,  sir  ;  one  word  more. 

They  are  both  in  cither's  powers.     But  this  swift  busi- 
ness 
I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning 
Make  the  prize  light.     One  word  more  :   I  charge  thee 
That  thou  attend  me.     Thou  dost  here  usurp 
The  name  thou  ow'st  not ;  and  hast  put  thyself 
Upon  this  island  as  a  spy  to  win  it 
From  me,  the  lord  on't. 

Fer.  No,  as  I  am  a  man. 

Mir.  There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  tem- 
ple. 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house. 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with't. 

Pros.  Follow  me. 

Speak  not  you  for  him  ;  he's  a  traitor. — Come, 
I'll  manacle  thy  neck  and  feet  together; 


2  26  COMEDIES   OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Sea-water  shalt  thou  drink ;  thy  food  shall  be 
The  fresh-brook  mussels,  wither'd  roots,  and  husks 
Wherein  the  acorn  cradled.     Follow. 

Fer.  No ; 

I  will  resist  such  entertainment  till 
Mine  enemy  has  more  power. 

\He  draws,  and  is  charmed  from  moving. 

Mir.  Oh,  dear  father, 

Make  not  too  rash  a  trial  of  him,  for 
He's  gentle,  and  not  fearful. 

Pros.  What,  I  say  ! 

My  foot  my  tutor }     Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor. 
Who    mak'st   a  show,  but    dar'st  not   strike,  thy  con- 
science 
Is  so  possess'd  with  guilt.     Come  from  thy  ward, 
For  I  can  here  disarm  thee  with  this  stick. 
And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 

Mir.  Beseech  you,  father ! 

Pros.   Hence ;  hang  not  on  my  garments. 

Mir.  Sir,  have  pity  ; 

ril  be  his  surety. 

Pros.  Silence  ;  one  word  more 

Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee.     What ! 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor.'*     Hush  ! 
Thou  think'st  there  are  no  more  such  shapes  as  he. 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban.     Foolish  wench  ! 
To  the  most  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban, 
And  they  to  him  are  angels. 

Mir.  My  affections 

Are  then  most  humble.     I  have  no  ambition 
To  see  a  goodlier  man. 

Pros.  Come  on  ;  obey. 

Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again. 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 

Fer.  So  they  are. 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
My  father's  loss  ;  the  weakness  which  I  feel, 
The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  or  this  man's  threats. 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me, 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day 


THE   TEMPEST  227 

Behold  this  maid.     All  corners  else  o'  th'  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of ;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison. 

Pros.  It  works. — Come  on. — 

Thou  hast  done  well,  fine  Ariel ! — Follow  me. — 
Hark,  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me. 

Mir.  Be  of  comfort ; 

My  father's  of  a  better  nature,  sir. 
Than  he  appears  by  speech ;  this  is  unwonted. 
Which  now  came  from  him. 

Pros.  Thou  shalt  be  as  free 

As  mountain  winds  ;  but  then  exactly  do 
All  points  of  my  command. 

Ariel.  To  th'  syllable. 

Pros.  Come,  follow  :  speak  not  for  him.         \_Exeunt. 


ACT  II 

Scene    I.  —  Enter  K\.o-^zo,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gon- 
ZALO,  Adrian,  Francisco,  and  others. 

Gon.  Beseech  you,  sir,  be  merry ;  you  have  cause 
(So  have  we  all)  of  joy  ;  for  our  escape 
Is  much  beyond  our  loss.     Our  hint  of  woe 
Is  common ;  every  day  some  sailor's  wife, 
The  masters  of  some  merchant,  and  the  merchant. 
Have  just  our  theme  of  woe.     But  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  speak  like  us.     Then  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comfort. 

Alon.  Prithee,  peace. 

Seb.  He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge. 

Ant.  The  visitor  will  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Seb.  Look,  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit ;  by- 
and-by  it  will  strike. 

Gon.  Sir. 

Seb.  One— tell. 

Gon.  When  every  grief  is  entertain'd 
That's  offer'd,  comes  to  the  entertainer — 


228  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Seb.  A  dollar. 

Gon.  Dolour  comes  to  him,  indeed;  you  have  spoken 
truer  than  you  purposed. 

Seb.  You  have  taken  it  wiselier  than  I  meant  you 
should. 

Gon.  Therefore,  my  lord — 

Ant.  Fie,  what  a  spendthrift  is  he  of  his  tongue ! 

ALon.  I  prithee,  spare. 

Gon.  Well,  I  have  done.     But  yet — 

Seb.  He  will  be  talking. 

Ant.  Which,  of  he  or  Adrian,  for  a  good  wager,  first 
begins  to  crow? 

Seb.  The  old  cock. 

Ant.  The  cockerel. 

Seb.  Done!     The  wager.? 

Ant.  A  laughter. 

Seb.  A  match. 

Adv.  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert. 

Seb.   Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ant.  So  you're  pay'd. 

Adr.  Uninhabitable,  and  almost  inaccessible. 

Seb.  Yet. 

Adr.  Yet— 

Ant.  He  could  not  miss  it. 

Adr.  It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and  delicate 
temperance. 

Ant.  Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench. 

Seb.  Ay,  and  a  subtle,  as  he  most  learnedly  deliver'd. 

Adr.  The  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Seb.  As  if  it  had  lungs,  and  rotten  ones. 

Ant.  Or,  as  'twere  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Gon.  Here  is  everything  advantageous  to  life. 

A7it.  True,  save  means  to  live. 

Seb.  Of  that  there's  none,  or  little. 

Gon.  How  lush  and  lusty  the  grass  looks  !  How 
green  ! 

Ant.  The  ground,  indeed,  is  tawny. 

Seb.  With  an  eye  of  green  in't. 

Ant.  He  misses  not  much. 

Seb.  No ;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 


THE   TEMPEST  229 

Gon.  But  the  rarity  of  it  is,  which  is  indeed  almost 
beyond  credit — 

Seb.  As  many  vouch'd  rarities  are. 

Gon.  That  our  garments,  being  as  they  were,  drench- 
ed in  the  sea,  hold,  notwithstanding,  their  freshness  and 
cdosses,  beinor  rather  new  dyed  than  stain'd  with  salt 
water. 

Ant.  If  but  one  of  his  pockets  could  speak,  would  it 
not  say  he  lies  ? 

Scb.  Ay,  or  very  falsely  pocket  up  his  report. 

Gon.  Methinks  our  garments  are  now  as  fresh  as 
when  we  put  them  on  first  in  Africa,  at  the  marriage 
of  the  king's  fair  daughter  Claribel  to  the  King  of 
Tunis. 

Seb.  Twas  a  sweet  marriage,  and  we  prosper  well  in 

our  return. 

Adr.  Tunis  was  never  graced  before  with  such  a 
paragon  to  their  queen. 

Gon.  Not  since  Widow  Dido's  time. 

Ant.  Widow }  a  pox  o'  that !  How  came  that  widow 
in  }     Widow  Dido  ! 

Scb.  What  if  he  had  said  Widower y^neas  too? 
Good  Lord,  how  you  take  it! 

Adr.  Widow  Dido,  said  you  ?  You  make  me  study 
of  that.     She  was  of  Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 

Gon.  This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Adr.  Carthage? 

Gon.  I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Ant.  His  word  is  more  than  the  miraculous  harp. 

Seb.  He  hath  raised  the  wall,  and  houses  too. 

Ant.  What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  easy  next  ? 

Seb.  I  think  he  will  carry  this  island  home  in  his 
pocket,  and  give  it  his  son  for  an  apple. 

Ant.  And  sowing  the  kernels  of  it  in  the  sea,  bring 
forth  more  islands. 

Gon.  Ay  ? 

Ant.  Why,  in  good  time. 

Gon.  Sir,  we  were  talking  that  our  garments  seem 
now  as  fresh  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis  at  the  marriage 
of  your  daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 


230  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ant.  And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  there. 

Seb.  'Bate,  I  beseech  you,  Widow  Dido. 

Ant.  Oh,  Widow  Dido;  ay.  Widow  Dido. 

Gon.  Is   not,  sir,  my  doublet   as  fresh   as   the    first 
day 
I  wore  it  ?     I  mean,  in  a  sort. 

A7it.  That  sort  was  well  fish'd  for. 

Gon.  When  I  wore  it  at  your  daughter's  marriage  ? 

Alon.  You  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears  against 
The  stomach  of  my  sense.     Would  I  had  never 
Married  my  daughter  there !  for,  coming  thence 
My  son  is  lost ;  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too, 
Who  is  so  far  from  Italy  removed, 
I  ne'er  again  shall  see  her.     Oh,  thou,  mine  heir 
Of  Naples  and  of  Milan,  what  strange  fish 
Hath  made  his  meal  on  thee  ! 

Fran.  Sir,  he  may  live. 

I  saw  him  beat  the  surges  under  him. 
And  ride  upon  their  backs.     He  trod  the  water 
Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 
The    surge   most   swollen    that   met    him.      His   bold 

head 
'Bove  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oared 
Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 
To  th'  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave-worn  basis  bowed, 
As  stooping  to  relieve  him.    I  not  doubt 
He  came  alive  to  land. 

Alon.  No,  no,  he's  gone. 

Seb.  Sir,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  this  great  loss. 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your  daughter, 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African  ; 
Where  she,  at  least,  is  banish'd  from  your  eye, 
Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  ofrief  on't. 

Alon.  Prithee,  peace. 

Seb.  You  were  kneel'd  to,  and  importuned  otherwise 
By  all  of  us ;  and  the  fair  soul  herself 
Weigh 'd  between  loathness  and  obedience,  at 
Which  end  o'  th'  beam  should  bow.    We  have  lost  your 

son, 
I  fear,  forever ;   Milan  and  Naples  have 


THE    TEMPEST  231 

More  widows  in  them  of  this  business  making 
Tlian  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them. 
The  fault's  your  own. 

A  Ion.  So  is  the  dearest  o'  th'  loss. 

Gon.  My  Lord  Sebastian, 

The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness, 
And  time  to  speak  it  in.     You  rub  the  sore, 
When  you  should  bring  the  plaster. 

Seb.  Very  well. 

Ant.  And  most  chirurgeonly. 

Gon.  It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir, 
When  you  are  cloudy. 

Seb.  Foul  weather  ? 

Ant.  Very  foul. 

Gon.   Had  I  a  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord — 

Ant.  He'd  sow  it  with  nettle-seed. 

Seb.  Or  docks,  or  mallows. 

Gon.  And  were  the  king  on't,  what  would  I  do  ? 

Seb.  'Scape  being  drunk  for  want  of  wine. 

Gon.  r  th'  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things.     For  no  kind  of  trafific 
Would  I  admit ;  no  name  of  magistrate , 
Letters  should  not  be  known  ;  riches,  poverty. 
And  use  of  service,  none  ;  contract,  succession, 
Borne,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none  ; 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil; 
No  occupation  ;  all  men  idle,  all ; 
And  women  too ;  but  innocent  and  pure. 
No  sovereignty. 

Seb.  Yet  he  would  be  king  on't. 

Ant.  The  latter  end  of  his  commonwealth  forgets 
the  begin nmg. 

Gon.  All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce 
Without  sweat  or  endeavor.     Treason,  felony, 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine 
Would  I  not  have  ;  but  nature  should  bring  forth 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foison,  all  abundance. 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 

Seb.  No  marrying  among  his  subjects  ? 

Ant.  None,  man  ;  all  idle  ;  whores  and  knaves. 


232  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Go?i.  I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir, 
To  excel  the  Golden  Age. 

Seb.  Save  his  majesty  ! 

AiiL  Long  live  Gonzalo  ! 

Go7t.  And,  do  you  mark  me,  sir? — 

Alon.  Prithee,  no  more  ;  thou  dost  talk  nothing  to  me. 

Gon.  I  do  well  believe  your  highness ;  and  did  it  to 
minister  occasion  to  these  gentlemen,  who  are  of  such 
sensible  and  nimble  lungs  that  they  always  use  to 
laugh  at  nothing. 

Ant.  'Twas  you  we  laughed  at. 

Gon.  Who,  in  this  kind  of  merry  fooling,  am  nothing 
to  you  ;  so  you  may  continue,  and  laugh  at  nothing  still. 

Ant.  What  a  blow  was  there  given  } 

Seb.  An  it  had  not  fallen  flat-lonor. 

Gon.  You  are  gentlemen  of  brave  mettle  ;  you  would 
lift  the  moon  out  of  her  sphere  if  she  would  continue 
in  it  five  weeks  without  changing. 

Enter  Ariel,  playing  solemn  music. 

Seb.  We  would  so,  and  then  go  bat-fowling. 

A7tt.  Nay,  my  good  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Gon.  No,  I  warrant  you  I  will  not  adventure  my  dis- 
cretion so  weakly.  Will  you  laugh  me  asleep,  for  I  am 
very  heavy  1 

Ant.  Go  to  sleep,  and  hear  us. 

Alon.  What,  all  so  soon  asleep  !     I  wish  mine  eyes 
Would,  with  themselves,  shut  up  my  thoughts ; 
I  find  they  are  inclined  to  do  so. 

Seb.  Please  you,  sir, 

Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it ; 
It  seldom  visits  sorrow  ;  when  it  doth, 
It  is  a  comforter. 

Ant.  We  two,  my  lord, 

Will  guard  your  person  while  you  take  your  rest. 
And  watch  your  safety. 

Alon.  Thank  you.    Wondrous  heavy. 

Seb.  What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them  ! 

Ant.   It  is  the  quality  o'  th'  climate. 


Plate  30 
TRINCULO  AND   CALIBAN 

The  Tempest,  act  ii.,  scene  ii. 


THE   TEMPEST 


233 


Seb.  Why 

Doth  it  not  then  our  eyehds  sink  ?   I  find 
Not  myself  disposed  to  sleep. 

^^^-  Nor  I ;  my  spirits  are  nimble. 

They  fell  together  all,  as  by  consent ; 
They  dropp'd  as  by  a  thunder-stroke.     What  might, 
Worthy  Sebastian  }     Oh,  what  might .?     No  more ; 
And  yet,  methinks  I  see  it  in  thy  face 
What    thou    shouldst   be;    the  occasion   speaks    thee, 

and 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 

Seb.  What,  art  thou  waking  ? 

A7it.  Do  you  not  hear  me  speak  .? 

^^^'  I  do,  and  surely 

It  is  a  sleepy  language ;  and  thou  speak'st 
Out  of  thy  sleep.     What  is  it  thou  didst  say  ? 
This  is  a  strange  repose,  to  be  asleep 
With  eyes  wide  open  ;  standing,  speaking,  moving. 
And  yet  so  fast  asleep. 

^iii-  Noble  Sebastian, 

Thou  let'st  thy  fortune  sleep ;  die  rather ;  wink'st 
Wliiles  thou  art  waking. 

S^^-^  Thou  dost  snore  distinctly ; 

There's  meaning  in  thy  snores. 

Ant.  I  am  more  serious  than  my  custom.     You 
Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me ;  which  to  do 
Trebles  thee  o'er. 

S^^-      ^  Well ;   I  am  standing  water. 

Ant.  I'll  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

^^^^^•.  Do  so;  to  ebb 

Hereditary  sloth  instructs  me. 

Ant.  Oh, 

If  you  but  knew  how  you  the  purpose  cherish 
Whiles  thus  you  mock  it ;  how,  in  stripping  it. 
You  more  invest  it !     Ebbing  men,  indeed,^ 
Most  often  do  so  near  the  bottom  run 
By  their  own  fear  or  sloth. 

S^^'  Prithee,  say  on. 

The  setting  of  thine  eye  and  cheek  proclaim 


234  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

A  matter  from  thee ;  and  a  birth,  indeed, 
Which  throes  thee  much  to  yield. 

Ant.  Thus,  sir: 

Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  this 
(Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memory 
When  he  is  earth'd),  hath  here  almost  persuaded 
(For  he's  a  spirit  of  persuasion,  only 
Professes  to  persuade)  the  king  his  son's  alive ; 
'Tis  as  impossible  that  he's  undrown'd 
As  he  that  sleeps  here  swims. 

Scb.  I  have  no  hope 

That  he's  undrown'd. 

Ant.  Oh,  out  of  that  no  hope 

What  great  hope  have  you !  No  hope  that  way  is 
Another  way  so  high  a  hope  that  even 
Ambition  cannot  pierce  a  wink  beyond, 
But  doubt  discover}'  there.     Will  you  grant,  with  me. 
That  Ferdinand  is  drown'd  .•* 

Seb.  He's  gone. 

Ant.  Then  tell  me,  who's  the  next  heir  of  Naples.^ 

Scb.  Claribel. 

Ant.  She  that  is  Queen  of  Tunis ;  she  that  dwells 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life ;  she  that  from  Naples 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post 
(The  man  i'  the  moon's  too  slow),  till  new-born  chins 
Be  rough  and  razorable ;  she  that  from  whom 
We  all  were  sea-swallow'd,  though  some  cast  again ; 
And,  by  that  destiny,  to  perform  an  act 
W^hereof  what's  past  is  prologue ;  what  to  come, 
In  yours  and  my  discharge. 

Scb.  What  stuff  is  this }     How  say  you  } 

'Tis  true,  my  brother's  daughter's  Oueen  of  Tunis ; 
So  is  she  heir  of  Naples,  'twixt  which  regions 
There  is  some  space. 

Ant.  A  space  whose  every  cubit 

Seems  to  cry  out,  How  shall  that  Claribel 
Measure  its  back  to  Naples  ?     Keep  in  Tunis, 
And  let  Sebastian  wake !     Say,  this  were  death 
That  now  hath  seized  them ;  why,  they  were  no  worse 
Than  now  they  are.      There  be  that  can  rule  Naples 


THE   TEMPEST  235 

As  well  as  he  that  sleeps ;  lords  that  can  prate 

As  amply  and  unnecessarily 

As  this  Gonzalo.     I  myself  could  make 

A  chough  of  as  deep  a  chat.     Oh,  that  you  bore 

The  mind  that  I  do !  what  a  sleep  were  this 

For  your  advancement !     Do  you  understand  me  ? 

Seb.  Methinks  I  do 

Ant.  And  how  does  your  content 

Tender  your  own  good-fortune  ? 

Seb.  I  remember 

You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospero. 

Ant.  True. 

And  look  how  well  my  garments  sit  upon  me ; 
Much  feater  than  before.     My  brother's  sen-ants 
Were  then  my  fellows,  now  they  are  my  men. 

Seb.  But  for  your  conscience — 

Ant.  Ay,  sir;  where  lies  that.''     If  'twere  a  kibe, 
'Twould  put  me  to  my  slipper ;  but  I  feel  not 
This  deity  in  my  bosom.     Twenty  consciences 
That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be  they. 
And  melt,  ere  they  molest !     Here  lies  your  brother, 
No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon. 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like,  that's  dead ; 
Whom  I,  with  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it, 
Can  lay  to  bed  forever :  whiles  you  doing  thus, 
To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye  might  put 
This  ancient  morsel,  this  Sir  Prudence,  who 
Should  not  upbraid  our  course.     For  all  the  rest, 
They'll  take  suggestion  as  a  cat  laps  milk ; 
They'll  tell  the  clock  to  any  business  that 
We  say  befits  the  hour. 

Seb.  Thy  case,  dear  friend, 

Shall  be  my  precedent.     As  thou  got'st  Milan, 
I'll  come  by  Naples.     Draw  thy  sword  :  one  stroke 
Shall  free  thee  from  the  tribute  which  thou  pay'st, 
And  I  the  king  shall  love  thee. 

Ant.  Draw  together; 

And  when  I  rear  my  hand,  do  you  the  like 
To  fall  it  on  Gonzalo. 

Seb.  Oh,  but  one  word. 


236  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Entei"  Ariel  with  music  and  sono-. 

Ariel.  Mv  master  through  his  art  foresees  the  danQ:er 
That  you,  his  friend,  are  in,  and  sends  me  forth. 
For  else  his  project  dies,  to  keep  them  living. 

\_Sings  in  Gonzalo's  ear. 

While  yoii  here  do  snoring  lie. 
Open-eyed  conspiracy 

His  time  doth  take. 
If  of  life  you  keep  a  care, 
Shake  off  slumber,  and  beware. 

Awake!  awake! 

Ant.  Then  let  us  both  be  sudden. 

Gon.  Now,  good  angels,  preserve  the  king. 

Alon.  Why,  how   now,  ho!   awake!     Why  are  you 
drawn } 
Wherefore  this  ghastly  looking  ? 

Gon.  What's  the  matter.? 

Scb.  Whiles  we  stood  here  securing  your  repose, 
Even  now  we  heard  a  hollow  burst  of  bellowing 
Like  bulls,  or  rather  lions ;  did  it  not  wake  you } 
It  struck  mine  ear  most  terribly. 

Alon.  I  heard  nothing. 

Ant.  Oh,  'twas  a  din  to  fright  a  monsters  ear; 
To  make  an  earthquake.     Sure  it  was  the  roar 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  lions. 

Alon.  Heard  you  this,  Gonzalo  ? 

Gon.  Upon  mine  honour,  sir,  I  heard  a  humming, 
And  that  a  strange  one,  too,  which  did  awake  me. 
I  shaked  you,  sir,  and  cried ;  as  mine  eyes  open'd, 
I  saw  their  weapons  drawn.     There  was  a  noise. 
That's  verity.     'Tis  best  we  stand  upon  our  guard, 
Or  that  we  quit  this  place.     Let's  draw  our  weapons. 

Alon.  Lead  off  this  ground,  and  let's  make  further 
search 
For  my  poor  son. 

Gon.  Heavens  keep  him  from  these  beasts! 

For  he  is  sure  i'  th'  island. 

Alo7i.  Lead  away. 


THE    TEMPEST  237 

Ariel.  Prospero   my   lord   shall   know  what   I   have 
done ; 
So,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.  \_Exennt. 

Scene   II. — Enter  Caliban  with  a   btirden  of  zvood  [a 
noise  of  tlnuider  heard). 

Cal.  All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 
From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make  him 
By  inch-meal  a  disease !     His  spirits  hear  me. 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse.     But  they'll  nor  pinch, 
Fright  me  with  urchin  shows,  pitch  me  i'  th'  mire, 
Nor  lead  me,  like  a  fire-brand  in  the  dark. 
Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  'em ;  but 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me. 
Sometimes  like  apes,  that  moe  and  chatter  at  me. 
And  after  bite  me ;  then  like  hedgehogs,  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  my  barefoot  way,  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  footfall ;  sometimes  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders,  who,  with  cloven  tongues, 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness.     Lo !  now  !  lo  ! 

Enter  Trinculo. 

Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his,  and  to  torment  me 
For  bringing  wood  in  slowly.     I'll  fall  flat; 
Perchance  he  will  not  mind  me. 

Trin.  Here's  neither  bush  nor  shrub  to  bear  off  any 
weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewing;  I  hear  it 
sing  i'  th'  wind.  Yond'  same  black  cloud,  yond'  huge 
one,  looks  like  a  foul  bumbard  that  would  shed  his 
liquor.  If  it  should  thunder,  as  it  did  before,  I  know- 
not  where  to  hide  my  head.  Yond'  same  cloud  cannot 
choose  but  fall  by  pailfuls.  What  have  we  here — a 
man  or  a  fish  t  Dead  or  alive  1  A  fish :  he  smells  like 
a  fish ;  a  very  ancient  and  fish-like  smell ;  a  kind  of, 
not  of  the  newest,  Poor-John.  A  strange  fish  !  Were 
I  in  England  now  (as  once  I  was),  and  had  but  this 
fish  painted,  not  a  holiday-fool  there  but  would  give  a 
piece  of  silver    There  would  this  monster  make  a  man  ; 


238  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

any  strange  beast  there  makes  a  man.  When  they  will 
not  give  a  doit  to  relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will  lay 
out  ten  to  see  a  dead  Indian.  Legg'd  like  a  man ! 
and  his  fins  like  arms !  Warm  o'  my  troth !  I  do  now 
let  loose  my  opinion:  hold  it  no  longer;  this  is  no  fish, 
but  an  islander  that  hath  lately  suffered  by  a  thunder- 
bolt. Alas !  the  storm  is  come  again.  My  best  way 
is  to  creep  under  his  gaberdine ;  there  is  no  other  shel- 
ter hereabout.  Misery  acquaints  a  man  with  strange 
bedfellows.  I  will  here  shroud  till  the  dregs  of  the 
storm  be  past. 


Enter  Stephano,  singijig. 

Ste.  ^  shall  no  nwre  to  sea,  to  sea. 

Here  shall  I  die  ashore. — 

This  is  a  very  scurvy  tune  to  sing  at  a  man's  funeral. 
Well,  here's  my  comfort.  \_Drinks. 

[Sings.]     The  master,  the  swabber,  the  boats7uain  a7ut  I, 
The  gujiner,  attd  his  mate. 
Loved  Mall,  Meg,  and  Marian,  and  Margery, 
Btet  none  of  us  cared  for  Kate  ; 
For  she  had  a  tongue  with  a  tang. 
Would  cry  to  a  sailor.  Go  hang : 
She  loved  not  the  savour  of  tar  nor  of  pitch. 
Yet  a  tailor  might  scratch  her  where  er  she  did  itch ; 
Then  to  sea,  boys,  and  let  her  go  hang. 

This  is  a  scurvy  tune,  too.     But  here's  my  comfort. 

\Drinks. 

Cat.  Do  not  torment  me.     Oh  ! 

Ste.  What's  the  matter  ?  Have  we  devils  here }  Do 
you  put  tricks  upon  us  with  savages  and  men  of  Inde  ? 
Ha!  I  have  not  'scaped  drowning,  to  be  afeard  now  of 
your  four  legs ;  for  it  hath  been  said.  As  proper  a  man 
as  ever  went  on  four  legs  cannot  make  him  give  ground. 
And  it  shall  be  said  so  again,  while  Stephano  breathes 
at  nostrils. 

Cat.  The  spirit  torments  me.     Oh  ! 


THE    TEMPEST  239 

Ste.  This  is  some  monster  of  the  isle  with  four  legs, 
who  hath  got,  as  I  take  it,  an  ague.  Where  the  devil 
should  he  learn  our  language?  I  will  give  him  some 
relief,  if  it  be  but  for  that.  If  I  can  recover  him,  and 
keep  him  tame,  and  get  to  Naples  with  him,  he's  a 
present  for  any  emperor  that  ever  trod  on  neat's 
leather. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me,  prithee  ;  I'll  bring  my  wood 
home  faster. 

Ste.  He's  in  his  fit  now ;  and  does  not  talk  after  the 
wisest.  He  shall  taste  of  my  bottle :  if  he  hath  never 
drunk  wine  afore,  it  will  go  near  to  remove  his  fit.  If 
I  can  recover  him,  and  keep  him  tame,  I  will  not  take 
too  much  for  him.  He  shall  pay  for  him  that  hath  him, 
and  that  soundly. 

Cal.  Thou  dost  me  yet  but  little  hurt;  thou  wilt 
anon,  I  know  it  by  thy  trembling.  Now  Prosper  works 
upon  thee. 

Ste.  Come  on  your  ways ;  open  your  mouth  ;  here  is 
that  which  will  give  language  to  you,  cat;  open  your 
mouth :  this  will  shake  your  shaking,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  that  soundly :  you  cannot  tell  who's  your  friend : 
open  your  chaps  again. 

Trin.  I  should  know  that  voice.  It  should  be — 
But  he  is  drowned ;  and  these  are  devils.  Oh,  defend 
me  ! 

Ste.  Four  legs,  and  two  voices ;  a  most  delicate 
monster !  His  forward  voice  now  is  to  speak  well  of 
his  friend ;  his  backward  voice  is  to  utter  foul  speeches, 
and  to  detract.  If  all  the  wine  in  my  bottle  will  re- 
cover him,  I  will  help  his  ague.  Come.  Amen,  I  will 
pour  some  to  thy  other  mouth. 

Trin.  Stephano, 

Ste.  Doth  thy  other  mouth  call  me?  Mercy!  mercy! 
This  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster.  I  will  leave  him ;  I 
have  no  long  spoon. 

Tj'in.  Stephano !  If  thou  be'st  Stephano,  touch  me, 
and  speak  to  me ;  for  I  am  Trinculo — be  not  afeard — 
thy  good  friend  Trinculo. 

Ste.  If  thou   be'st    Trinculo,  come   forth.      I'll   pull 


240  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

thee  by  the  lesser  legs ;  if  any  be  Trinculo's  legs,  these 
are  they.  Thou  art  very  Trinculo,  indeed.  How  cam'st 
thou  to  be  the  siege  of  this  moon-calf  .f*  Can  he  vent 
Trinculos.f' 

Trin.  I  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  thunder-stroke. 
But  art  thou  not  drowned,  Stephano  ?  I  hope,  now, 
thou  art  not  drowned.  Is  the  storm  overblown }  I  hid 
me  under  the  dead  moon-calf's  gaberdine  for  fear  of 
the  storm.  And  art  thou  living,  Stephano  .f*  Oh,  Ste- 
phano, two  Neapolitans  'scaped ! 

Ste.  Prithee,  do  not  turn  me  about;  my  stomach  is 
not  constant. 

Cal.  These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
That's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor; 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  did'st  thou  'scape }  How  cam'st  thou 
hither?  Swear  by  this  bottle  how  thou  cam'st  hith- 
er. I  escaped  upon  a  butt  of  sack,  which  the  sailors 
heaved  overboard,  by  this  bottle !  which  I  made  of  the 
bark  of  a  tree,  with  mine  own  hands,  since  I  was  cast 
ashore. 

Cal.  I'll  swear  upon  that  bottle  to  be  thy  true  subject, 
for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 

Ste.   Here ;  swear  then  how  thou  escap'dst. 

Ti'in.  Swam  ashore,  man,  like  a  duck ;  I  can  swim 
like  a  duck,  I'll  be  sworn. 

Ste.  Here,  kiss  the  book.  Though  thou  canst  swim 
like  a  duck,  thou  art  made  like  a  goose. 

Trin.  Oh,  Stephano,  hast  any  more  of  this  } 

Ste.  The  whole  butt,  man ;  my  cellar  is  in  a  rock  by 
the  sea-side,  where  my  wine  is  hid.  How  now,  moon- 
calf .f*  how  does  thine  ague.^* 

Cal.  Hast  thou  not  dropped  from  heaven } 

Ste.  Out  o'  th'  moon,  I  do  assure  thee.  I  was  the 
man  i'  th'  moon,  when  time  was. 

Cal.  I  have  seen  thee  in  her,  and  I  do  adore  thee ; 
my  mistress  showed  me  thee,  and  thy  dog,  and  thy 
bush, 

Ste.  Come,  swear  to  that ;  kiss  the  book ;  I  will  fur- 
nish it  anon  with  new  contents  :  swear. 


THE   TEMPEST  241 

Trin.  By  this  good  light,  this  is  a  very  shallow  mon- 
ster. I  afeard  of  him  ? — a  very  weak  monster. — The 
man  i'  th'  moon } — A  most  poor  credulous  monster. 
Well-drawn  monster,  in  good  sooth. 

Cal.  I'll  show  thee  every  fertile  inch  o'  th'  island  ;  and 
I  will  kiss  thy  foot.     I  prithee,  be  my  god. 

Trin.  By  this  light,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunk- 
en monster ;  when  his  god's  asleep,  he'll  rob  his 
bottle. 

Cal.  I'll  kiss  thy  foot.  I'll  swear  myself  thy  sub- 
ject. 

Ste.  Come  on  then ;  down  and  swear. 

Trm.  I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster  —  a  most  scurvy  monster!  1  could 
find  in  my  heart  to  beat  him — 

Ste.  Come,  kiss. 

Trin.  — but  that  the  poor  monster's  in  drink : 
An  abominable  monster  ! 

Cal.   I'll  show  thee  the  best  springs  ;   I'll  pluck  thee 
berries. 
I'll  fish  for  thee,  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve  ! 
I'll  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
Thou  wondrous  man. 

Trin.  A  most  ridiculous  monster,  to  make  a  wonder 
of  a  poor  drunkard. 

Cal.  I  prithee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow; 
and  I  with  my  long  nails  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts;  show 
thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how  to  snare  the 
nimble  marmoset.  I'll  bring  thee  to  clust'ring  filberts, 
and  sometimes  I'll  tret  thee  vouns:  sea-mells  from  the 
rock.     Wilt  thou  go  with  me  t 

Ste.  I  prithee  now,  lead  the  way,  without  any  more 
talking.  Trinculo,  the  king,  and  all  our  company  else 
being  drowned,  we  will  inherit  here. — Here  ;  bear  my 
bottle.     Fellow  Trinculo,  we'll  fill  him  by-and-by  again. 

[Caliban  sings  drunkenly. 
Farewell,  Master  ;  farewell,  farewell. 

Trin.  A  howling  monster ;  a  drunken  monster. 


242  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Cttl,  ^^  more  dams  I'll  make  for  fish. 

Nor  fetch  in  firing,  at  reqttiring. 
Nor  scrape  trenchering,  7ior  wash  dish; 

'Ban  'Ban,  Ca-Caliban 
Has  a  new  master — get  a  Jiew  7nan. 

Freedom,  heyday  !  heyday,  freedom  !  freedom  !  heyday, 
freedom  ! 
Ste.  Oh,  brave  monster  !  lead  the  way.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT   III 

Scene  I. — Enter  Ferdinand  {bearing  a  log). 

Fer.  There   be  some  sports  are   painful ;    and   their 
labour 
Delio:ht  in  them  sets  off.     Some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone ;  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends.     This  my  mean  task 
Would  be  as  heavy  to  me  as  odious,  but 
The  mistress  which  I  serve  quickens  what's  dead. 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures.     Oh,  she  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father's  crabbed ; 
And  he's  composed  of  harshness.     I  must  remove 
Some  thousands  of  these  logs,  and  pile  them  up 
Upon  a  sore  injunction.     My  sweet  mistress 
Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work ;   and  says  such  base- 
ness 
Had  ne'er  like  executor.     I  forget ; 
But  these  sweet  thoughts  do  even  refresh  my  labours ; 
Most  busyless,  when  I  do  it. 

Enter  Miranda  and  Prospero. 

Mir.  Alas  !  now  pray  you. 

Work  not  so  hard.     I  would  the  lis^htnins:  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs  that  you  are  enjoin'd  to  pile ! 
Pray,  set  it  down  and  rest  you ;  when  this  burns 
'Twill  weep  for  having  wearied  you  ;  my  father 
Is  hard  at  study;  pray  now,  rest  yourself; 
He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Fer.  Oh,  most  dear  mistress, 


Plate  3' 

FERDINAND   MEETS   MIRANDA 

The  Tempest,  act  iii.,  scene  i, 


VJf^t^jx 


THE    TEMPEST  243 

The  sun  will  set  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  I  must  strive  to  do. 

Mir.  If  you'll  sit  down, 

I'll  bear  your  logs  the  while.     Pray,  give  me  that ; 
I'll  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Fer.  No,  precious  creature  ; 

I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back, 
Than  you  should  such  dishonour  undergo. 
While  I  sit  lazy  by. 

Mir.  It  would  become  me 

As  well  as  it  does  you ;  and  I  should  do  it 
With  much  moi'e  ease ;  for  my  good-will  is  to  it. 
And  yours  it  is  against. 

Pros.  Poor  worm  !  thou  art  infected  ; 

This  visitation  shows  it. 

Mir.  You  look  wearily. 

Fcr.  No,  noble  mistress;  'tis  fresh  morning  with  me 
When  you  are  by  at  night.     I  do  beseech  you 
(Chiefly  that  I  might  set  it  in  my  prayers). 
What  is  your  name  .^ 

Mir.  Miranda. — Oh,  my  father, 

I  have  broke  your  best  to  say  so ! 

Fer.  Admired  Miranda ! 

Indeed,  the  top  of  admiration  ;  worth 
What's  dearest  to  the  world !     Full  many  a  lady 
I  have  eyed  with  best  regard ;  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear.     For  several  virtues 
Have  I  liked  several  women ;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  owed, 
And  put  it  to  the  foil.     But  you,  oh,  you, 
So  perfect  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best. 

Mir.  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex ;  no  woman's  face  remember. 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own  ;  nor  have  I  seen 
More  that  I  may  call  men  than  you,  good  friend. 
And  my  dear  father.     How  features  are  abroad 
I  am  skilless  of;  but,  by  my  modesty 


244  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

(The  jewel  in  my  dower),  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you  ; 
Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape 
Besides  yourself  to  like  of.     But  I  prattle 
Something  too  wildly,  and  my  father's  precepts 
I  therein  do  forget. 

Fer.  I  am,  in  my  condition, 

A  prince,  Miranda;   I  do  think,  a  king; 
(I  would  not  so)  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery  than  to  suffer 
The  flesh-fly  blow  my  mouth. —  Hear  my  soul  speak. 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you  did 
My  heart  fly  to  your  service;  there  resides. 
To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and,  for  your  sake, 
Am  I  this  patient  log-man. 

Mir.  Do  you  love  me  ? 

Fer.  O  Heaven,  O  Earth,  bear  witness  to  this  sound, 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event, 
If  I  speak  true ;  if  hollowly,  invert 
What  best  is  boded  me  to  mischief!   I, 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else  i'  the  world. 
Do  love,  prize,  honour  you. 

Mir.  I  am  a  fool 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pros.  Fair  encounter 

Of  two  most  rare  affections !      Heaven  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  'em ! 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you  .? 

Mira.  At  mine  unworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give;  and  much  less  take 
What  I  shall  die  to  want.     But  this  is  trifling; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself. 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.     Hence,  bashful  cunning ! 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me  ; 
If  not,  I'll  die  your  maid :  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me,  but  I'll  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Fer.  My  mistress,  dearest, 

And  I  thus  humble  ever. 


THE    TEMPEST  245 

Mir.  My  husband,  then  ? 

Fer.  Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing 
As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom:  here's  my  hand. 

Mir.  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in't;  and  now,  fare- 
well 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

Fer.  A  thousand  !  thousand  !   \_ExetmL 

Pros.  So  glad  of  this  as  they  I  cannot  be, 
Who  are  surprised  with  all;  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.     I'll  to  my  book ; 
For  yet,  ere  supper  time,  must  I  perform 
Much  business  appertaining.  \_Exii. 

Scene  II. — Enter  Caliban,  Stephano,  Trinculo. 

Ste.  Tell  not  me ;  when  the  butt  is  out  we  will  drink 
water — not  a  drop  before  ;  therefore  bear  up,  and  board 
'em.     Servant-monster,  drink  to  me. 

Trill.  Servant  -  monster  .f^  the  folly  of  this  island. 
They  say  there's  but  five  upon  this  isle;  we  are  three 
of  them ;  if  th'  other  two  be  brained  like  us,  the  state 
totters. 

Sie.  Drink,  servant-monster,  when  I  bid  thee;  thy 
eyes  are  almost  set  in  thy  head. 

Triji.  Where  should  they  be  set  else }  he  were  a 
brave  monster  indeed,  if  they  were  set  in  his  tail. 

Sle.  My  man-monster  hath  drowned  his  tongue  in 
sack.  For  my  part,  the  sea  cannot  drown  me.  I  swam, 
ere  I  could  recover  the  shore,  five-and-thirty  leagues 
off  and  on  by  this  light.  Thou  shalt  be  my  lieutenant, 
monster,  or  my  standard. 

Trin.  Your  lieutenant,  if  you  list ;  he's  no  standard. 

Ste.  We'll  not  run,  monsieur  monster. 

Trill.  Nor  go  neither ;  but  you'll  lie  like  dogs  and 
yet  say  nothing  neither. 

Sle.  Moon-calf,  speak  once  in  thy  life,  if  thou  be'st 
a  good  moon-calf. 

Cal.  How  does  thy  honour?  Let  me  lick  thy  shoe. 
I'll  not  serve  him,  he  is  not  valiant. 

Trin.  Thou  liest,  most  ignorant  monster;    I  am  in 


246  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

case  to  justle  a  constable.  Why,  thou  debosh'd  fish 
thou,  was  there  ever  man  a  coward  that  hath  drunk  so 
much  sack  as  I  to-day?  Wilt  thou  tell  a  monstrous 
He,  being  but  half  a  fish  and  half  a  monster? 

Cal.  Lo,  how  he  mocks  me !  wilt  thou  let  him,  my 
lord  ? 

Trin.  Lord,  quoth  he  ?  that  a  monster  should  be 
such  a  natural ! 

Cal.  Lo,  lo,  again  !  bite  him  to  death,  I  prithee. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your  head ;  if 
you  prove  a  mutineer,  the  next  tree.  The  poor  mon- 
ster's my  subject,  and  he  shall  not  suffer  indignity. 

Cal.  I  thank  my  noble  lord.  W^ilt  thou  be  pleased 
to  hearken  once  again  to  the  suit  I  made  to  thee  ? 

Ste.  Marry  will  L  Kneel,  and  repeat  it ;  I  will  stand 
and  so  shall  Trinculo. 

Enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Cal.  As  I  told  thee  before,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant ; 
A  sorcerer  that,  by  his  cunning,  hath  cheated  me 
Of  the  island. 

Ariel.  Thou  liest. 

Cal.  Thou  liest,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou  ! 
I  would  my  valiant  master  would  destroy  thee. 
I  do  not  lie. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in  his  tale, 
By  this  hand  I  will  supplant  some  of  your  teeth. 

Trin.   Why,  I  said  nothing. 

Ste.  Mum  then,  and  no  more. — Proceed. 

Cal.  I  say,  by  sorcery  he  got  this  isle. 
From  me  he  got  it.     If  thy  greatness  will, 
Revenge  it  on  him,  for  I  know  thou  dar'st; 
But  this  thing  dare  not. 

Ste.  That's  most  certain. 

Cal.  Thou  shalt  be  lord  of  it,  and  I'll  serve  thee. 

Ste.  How  now  shall  this  be  compassed? 
Canst  thou  bring  me  to  the  party  ? 

Cal.  Yea,  yea,  my  lord ;   I'll  yield  him  thee  asleep. 
Where  thou  may'st  knock  a  nail  into  his  head. 


THE    TEMPEST  247 

Ariel.  Thou  liest,  thou  canst  not. 

CaL  What  a  pied  ninny's  this  ?    Thou  scurvy  patch  ! 
I  do  beseech  thy  greatness,  give  liim  blows, 
And  take  his  bottle  from  him  :  when  that's  gone 
He  shall  drink  nought  but  brine,  for  I'll  not  show  hmi 
Where  the  quick  freshes  are. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  run  into  no  further  danger.  Interrupt 
the  monster  one  word  further,  and  by  this  hand,  I'll 
turn  my  mercy  out  o'  doors,  and  make  a  stock-fish  of 

thee.  . 

Trill.  Why,  what  did  I  1     I  did  nothuig. 

I'll  go  further  off. 

Ste  Didst  thou  not  say  he  lied  ? 

Ariel  ^^^^  ^^^^^• 

Ste.  Do  I  so  ?     Take  thou  that. 
As  you  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time. 

Trin.   I  did  not  give  the  lie.     Out  o'  your  wits  and 
hearing  too  ?  •   1  •        1 

A  pox  o'  your  bottle  !  this  can  sack  and  drinking  do. 
A  murrain  on  your  monster,  and  the  devil  take  your 
fingers  ! 

Cal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Ste.  Now,  forward  with  your  tale.     Prithee  stand  fur- 
ther off. 

Cal.  Beat  him  enough;  after  a  little  time 

I'll  beat  him  too. 

Ste.  Stand  further.     Come,  proceed. 

CaL  Why,  as  I  told  thee,  'tis  a  custom  with  him 
r  th'  afternoon  to  sleep.    There  thou  may'st  brain  him, 
Having  first  seized  his  books  ;  or  with  a  log 
Batter  his  skull,  or  paunch  him  with  a  stake. 
Or  cut  his  weasand  with  thy  knife.     Remember, 
First  to  possess  his  books ;  for  without  them 
He's  but  a  sot,  as  I  am,  nor  hath  not 
One  spirit  to  command.     They  all  do  hate  him 
As  rootedly  as  I.     Burn  but  his  books  ; 
He  has  brave  utensils  (for  so  he  calls  theni). 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal. 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider  is 
The  beauty  of  his  daughter ;  he  himself 


248  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Calls  her  a  nonpareil.     I  never  saw  a  woman 
But  only  Sycorax,  my  dam,  and  she  ; 
But  she  as  far  surpasseth  Sycorax 
As  great  st  does  least. 

Stc.  Is  it  so  brave  a  lass  ? 

Cal.  Ay,  lord  ;  she  will  become  thy  bed,  I  warrant, 
And  brinor  thee  forth  brave  brood. 

Ste.  Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man.  His  daughter  and 
I  will  be  king  and  queen  (save  our  graces !),  and  Trin- 
culo  and  thyself  shall  be  viceroys. — Dost  thou  like  the 
plot,  Trinculo  ? 

Trill.  Excellent. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand ;   I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee. 
But,  while  thou  liv'st,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  thy  head. 

Cal.  Within  this  half-hour  will  he  be  asleep  ; 
Wilt  thou  destroy  him  then  } 

Ste.  Ay,  on  mine  honour. 

Ariel.   This  will  I  tell  my  master. 

Cal.  Thou  mak'st  me  merry.     I  am  full  of  pleasure  ; 
Let  us  be  jocund.    Will  you  troll  the  catch 
You  taucrht  me  but  while-ere  ? 

Ste.  At  thy  request,  monster,  I  will  do  reason — 
Any  reason.     Come  on,  Trinculo,  let  us  sing.      \_Si71gs. 

Flout  'cm,  and  skout  'em  ;  and  skout  'em,  and  fioiit  'cm : 
Thought  is  free. 

Cal.  That's  not  the  tune. 

[Ariel  plays  the  time  on  a  tabor  and  pipe, 

Ste.  What  is  this  same } 

Trill.  This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  played  by  the 
picture  of  No-body. 

Ste.  If  thou  be'st  a  man,  show  thyself  in  thy  likeness. 
If  thou  be'st  a  devil,  take't  as  thou  list. 

Trin.  Oh,  forgive  me  my  sins  ! 

Ste.  He  that  dies  pays  all  debts.    I  defy  thee. 
Mercy  upon  us ! 

Cat.  Art  thou  afeard  ? 

Ste.  No,  monster ;  not  I. 

Cal.  Be  not  afeard  ;  the  isle  is  full  of  noises, 


Plate  32 
CALIBAN.  STEFANO.  AND  TRINCULO 

(ARIEL  INVISIBLE) 
The  Tempest,  act  iii.,  scene  ii. 


THE    TEMPEST  249 

Sounds,  and   sweet   airs    that    give    delight    and    hurt 

not. 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears  ;  and  sometimes  voices 
That,  if  I  then  had  waked  after  long  sleep, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again  ;  and  then,  in  dreaming, 
The  clouds,  methought,  would  open  and  show  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me  ;  that,  when  I  waked, 
I  cried  to  dream  aijain, 

Ste.   That  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me,  where 
I  shall  have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.  When  Prospero  is  destroyed. 

Ste.  That    shall    be    by -and -by.      I    remember    the 
story. 

Trill.  The  sound  is  going  away.     Let's  follow  it,  and 
after  do  our  work. 

Ste.  Lead,  monster ;  we'll  follow. — I  would   I  could 
see  this  taborer  ;  he  lays  it  on. 

Trill.  Wilt  come  }     Lll  follow,  Stephano. 

S^Exeunt. 

Scene  IIL — Enter  Alonzo,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gon- 
ZALO,  Adrian,  Francisco,  &c. 

Gon.  By'r  lakin,  I  can  go  no  further,  sir  ; 
My  old  bones  ache ;  here's  a  maze  trod,  indeed, 
Through  fourth  -  rights    and  meanders  !     By  your  pa- 
tience, 
I  needs  must  rest  me. 

Alon.  Old  lord,  I  cannot  blame  thee, 

Who  am  myself  attach'd  with  weariness 
To  th'  dulling  of  my  spirits.    Sit  down  and  rest. 
Even  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope,  and  keep  it 
No  longer  for  my  flatterer.     He  is  drown'd 
Whom  thus  we  stray  to  find  ;  and  the  sea  mocks 
Our  frustrate  search  on  land.     Well,  let  him  go. 

Ant.  I  am  right  glad  that  he's  so  out  of  hope. 
Do  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolved  to  effect. 

Seb.  The  next  advantage  will  we  take  thoroughly. 


250  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ant.  Let  it  be  to-night ; 

For  now  they  are  oppressed  with  travel,  they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

Solemn  and  strange  music ;  and  Prospero  on  the  top, 
invisible.  Enter  several  strange  shapes,  bringi^zg  in  a 
banquet ;  and  dance  about  it  with  gentle  actions  of  salu- 
tations, and  inviting  the  hi?ig,  &c.,  to  eat,  they  depart. 

Seb.  I  say  to-night ;  no  more. 

Alon.  What  harmony  is  this  ?  my  good  friends,  hark ! 

Gon.  Marvellous  sweet  music  ! 

Alon.   Give  us  kind  keepers,  heavens !     What  were 
these  ? 

Seb.  A  living  drollery.     Now  I  will  believe 
That  there  are  unicorns ;  that,  in  Arabia, 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phoenix'  throne,  one  phoenix 
At  this  hour  reigning  there. 

Ant.  I'll  believe  both  ; 

And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me. 
And  I'll  be  sworn  'tis  true.     Travellers  ne'er  did  lie, 
Though  fools  at  home  condemn  'em. 

Gon.  If  in  Naples 

I  should  report  this  now,  would  they  believe  me  } 
If  I  should  say  I  saw  such  islanders 
(For  certes,  these  are  people  of  the  island), 
Who,  though  they  are  of  monstrous  shape,  yet  note. 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle-kind,  than  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  find 
Many,  nay,  almost  any. 

Pros.  Honest  lord. 

Thou  hast  said  well ;  for  some  of  you  there  present 
Are  worse  than  devils. 

Alon.  I  cannot  too  much  muse, 

Such  shapes,  such  gesture,  and  such  sound  expressing 
(Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue)  a  kind 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 

Pros.  Praise  in  departing. 

Fraji.  They  vanish 'd  strangely. 


THE    TEMPEST  251 

,->  1  No  matter,  since 

They  "have  left  their  viands  behind;   for  we  have  stom- 

achs. — 
Will't  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here  ? 

Gon.  Faith,  sir,  you  need  not  fear.     When  we  were 

boys 
Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers, 
Dew-lapp'd   like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging  at 

'em 
Wallets  of  flesh?  or  that  there  were  such  men 
Whose   heads  stood    in  their  breasts?  which   now  we 

find 
Each  putter-out  of  five  for  one  will  bring  us 

Good  warrant  of.  -,  r      1 

Alon.  I  will  stand  to,  and  feed, 

Although  my  last.     No  matter,  since  I  feel 
The  best  is  past.     Brother,  my  lord  the  duke, 
Stand  to,  and  do  as  we. 

Thunder  and  lightning.     Enicr  Ariel   like  a   harpy; 

claps  his  wings  upon  the  table,  and,  by  a  quaint  device, 

the  banquet  vanishes. 

Ariel.  You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world, 
And  what  is  in't)  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hath  caused  to  belch  up ;  and  on  this  island, 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit,  you  'mongst  men 
Beincr  most  unfit  to  live.     I  have  made  you  mad; 
And'even  with  such  like  valour  men  hang  and  drown 
Their  proper  selves.     You  fools  !   I  and  my  fellows 
Are  ministers  of  fate ;  the  elements. 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper'd,  may  as  well 
Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bemock'd-at-stabs 
Kill  the  still  closing  waters,  as  diminish 
One  dowle  that's  in  my  plume.   My  fellow  ministers 
Are  like  invulnerable :  if  you  could  hurt. 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths, 
And  will  not  be  uplifted.     But  remember 


2  52  COMEDIES  OE  SHAKESPEARE 

(For  that's  my  business  to  you)  that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prospero, 
Exposed  unto  the  sea,  which  hath  requit  it, 
Him,  and  his  innocent  child.     For  which  foul  deed 
The  powers  delaying,  not  forgetting,  have 
Incensed  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures, 
Against  your  peace.     Thee  of  thy  son,  Alonzo, 
They  have  bereft;  and  do  pronounce  by  me 
Lingering  perdition  (worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once)  shall  step  by  step  attend 
You  and  your  ways ;  whose  wraths  to  guard  you  from 
(Which  here,  in  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls 
Upon  your  heads)  is  nothing  but  heart's  sorrow 
And  a  clear  life  ensuing. 

He  vanishes  in  thunder ;  then,  to  soft  imisic,  enter  the 
shapes  again,  and  dance  with  mocks  and  mowes,  and 
carry  ottt  the  table. 

Pros.  Bravely  the  figure  of  this  harpy  hast  thou 
Perform'd,  my  Ariel ;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring. 
Of  my  instruction  hast  thou  nothing  bated 
In  what  thou  hadst  to  say.     So,  with  good  life. 
And  observation  strange,  my  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done.    M}^  high  charms  work. 
And  these,  mine  enemies,  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions.     They  now  are  in  my  power, 
And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  while  I  visit 
Young  Ferdinand  (whom  they  suppose  is  drown 'd) 
And  his  and  my  loved  darling. 

Gon.  V  the  name  of  something  holy,  sir,  why  stand  you 
In  this  strange  stare  } 

Alon.  Oh,  it  is  monstrous  !  monstrous  ! 

Methought  the  billows  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it ; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me  ;  and  the  thunder. 
That  deep  and  dreadful  organ-pipe,  pronounced 
The  name  of  Prosper  ;  it  did  bass  my  trespass. 
Therefore  my  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded ;  and 
I'll  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet  sounded, 
And  with  him  there  lie  mudded.  \^Exit. 


THE   TEMPEST  =53 

^^^_  But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

I'll  fi^ht  their  legions  o'er.  ,    r  zr         . 

^,7/  I'll  l^e  thy  second.  yExeunt. 

Gon.  All  three   of  them  are  desperate  ;  their  great 

guilt,  . 

Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  tmie  atter, 
Now  'gins  to  bite  the  spirits.     I  do  beseech  you 
That  cire  of  suppler  joints  follow  them  swiftly, 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstasy 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 

Jr^/;._  Follow,  I  pray  you. 

\_Exeiint  077tnes. 

ACT  IV 
Scene  \.— Enter  Prospero,  Ferdinand,  and  Miranda. 

Pros.  If  I  have  too  austerely  punished  you, 
Your  compensation  makes  amends;  for  I 
Have  given  you  here  a  third  of  mine  own  life, 
Or  that  for  which  I  live ;  whom  once  again 
I  tender  to  thy  hand :  all  thy  vexations 
Were  but  my  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 
Hast  strangely  stood  the  test:  here,  afore  heaven, 
I  ratify  this  my  rich  gift.     Oh,  Ferdinand, 
Do  not  smile  at  me  that  I  boast  her  of, 
For  thou  shalt  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise, 
And  make  it  halt  behind  her. 

p^j,  I  do  believe  it 

Ao-ainst  an  oracle.  .  .  . 

Pros.  Then,  as  my  guest,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
Worthily  purchased,  take  my  daughter.     But 
If  thou  dost  break  her  virgin  knot  before 
All  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may 
With  full  and  holy  rite  be  minister'd. 
No  sweet  aspersion  shall  the  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow;  but  barren  hate, 
Sour-eyed  disdain,  and  discord  shall  bestrew 
The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loathly 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both :  therefore,  take  heed, 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you. 


2  54  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Fer.  As  I  hope 

For  quiet  days,  fair  issue,  and  long  life. 
With  such  love  as  'tis  now,  the  murkiest  den, 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strong'st  suggestion 
Our  worser  genius  can,  shall  never  melt 
Mine  honour  into  lust,  to  take  away 
The  edge  of  that  day's  celebration. 
When  I  shall  think  or  Phoebus'  steeds  are  founder'd 
Or  night  kept  chain'd  below. 

Pros.  Fairly  spoke ; 

Sit,  then,  and  talk  with  her,  she  is  thine  own. — 
What,  Ariel !  my  industrious  servant  Ariel ! 

Enter  Ariel. 

Ariel.  What  would  my  potent  master.'*  here  I  am. 

Pros.  Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  ser- 
vice 
Did  worthily  perform ;  and  I  must  use  you 
In  such  another  trick:  go,  bring  the  rabble. 
O'er  whom  I  give  thee  power,  here  to  this  place : 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion ;  for  I  must 
Bestow  upon  the  eyes  of  this  young  couple 
Some  vanity  of  mine  art;  it  is  my  promise. 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 

Ariel.  Presently  ? 

Pros.  Ay,  with  a  twink. 

Ariel.  Before  you  can  say.  Come,  and  go, 
And  breathe  twice  ;  and  cry,  so,  so, 
Each  one,  tripping  on  his  toe. 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mowe. 
Do  you  love  me  master  .f*  no  ? 

Pros.  Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel.     Do  not  approach 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 

Ariel.  Well  I  conceive.         Exit. 

Pros.  Look  thou  be  true;  do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein ;  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  fire  i'  the  blood :  be  more  abstemious. 
Or  else,  good-night  your  vow ! 

Fer.  I  warrant  you,  sir, 


THE    TEMPEST  255 

The  white  cold  virgin  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardour  of  my  Hver. 

Pros.  Well- 

Now  come,  my  Ariel ;  brmg  a  corollary, 
Rather  than  want  a  spirit ;  appear,  and  pertly. 

\Soft  music. 

No  tongue ;  all  eyes ;  be  silent. 

Enter  Iris. 

Iris.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  fetches,  oats,  and  pease  ; 
Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover  them  to  keep; 
Thy  banks  with  peonied  and  lilied  brims, 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims. 
To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns;  and  thy  broom 

groves. 
Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves. 
Being  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard, 
And  thy  sea-marge,  sterile  and  rocky-hard, 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air.     The  queen  o'  the  sky. 
Whose  watery  arch  and  messenger  am  I, 
Bids  thee  leave  these,  and,  with  her  sovereign 

c(^^2lz^  [/2^/^^  descends. 

Here  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place, 
To  come  and  sport:  here  peacocks  fly  amain; 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain. 

Enter  Ceres. 

Ceres.  Hail,  many-colour'd  messenger,  that  ne'er 
Dost  disobey  the  wife  of  Jupiter; 
Who,  with  thy  saffron  wings,  upon  my  flowers 
Diffusest  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers. 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  crown 
My  bosky  acres  and  my  unshrubb'd  down. 
Rich  scarf  to  my  proud  earth.     Why  hath  thy  queen 
Summon'd  me  hither,  to  this  short-grass'd  green  ? 

Iris.  A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate, 


256  COMEDIES  OE  SHAKESPEARE 

And  some  donation  freely  to  estate 
On  the  bless'd  lovers. 

Ceres.  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

If  Venus  or  her  son,  as  thou  dost  know, 
Do  now  attend  the  queen  ?  since  they  did  plot 
The  means  that  dusky  Dis  my  daughter  got, 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandall'd  company 
I  have  forsworn. 

Iris.  Of  her  society 

Be  not  afraid ;  I  met  her  deity 
Cutting  the  clouds  towards  Paphos ;  and  her  son 
Dove -drawn    with    her:    here    thought    they   to    have 

done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid 
Whose  vows  are  that  no  bed-rite  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted:  but  in  vain; 
Mars'  hot  minion  is  returned  again ; 
Her  waspish-headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows. 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with  sparrows, 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Ceres.  Highest  queen  of  state, 

Great  Juno  comes;  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 

Enter  Juno. 

Juno.   How  does  my  bounteous  sister?  Go  with  me 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  be 
And  honour'd  in  their  issue.  \They  sing. 

SONG. 

Juno.  Honour,  riches,  marriage-bh'ssing. 

Long  continuance,  and  increasing. 
Hourly  joys  be  still  ttpon  yoic ! 
Juno  sings  her  blessings  on  you. 
Ceres.         Earth's  increase,  and  foison  plefity  ; 
Bartis  a7ui  garners  never  empty  ; 
Vines  with  clustering  bunches  growing  ; 
Plants  with  goodly  burden  bo^uittg  ; 
Spring  come  to  you  at  the  farthest 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest ! 
Scarcity  and  want  shall  shun  you ; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  oJt  you. 


Plate  33 
THE   BANQUET 

The  Tempest,  act  iii.,  scene  iii. 


la  •"  i^^sustttir-t-if'^i^ts:  -^ 


THE   TEMPEST  257 

Fcr.  This  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Harmonious  charmingly.  May  I  be  bold 
To  think  these  spirits? 

Pj'os.  Spirits,  which  by  mine  art 

I  have  from  their  confines  call'd  to  enact 
My  present  fancies. 

Fer.  Let  me  live  here  ever  ; 

So  rare  a  wonder'd  father,  and  a  wife, 
Makes  this  place  Paradise. 

[Juno  and  Ceres  whisper  and  send  Iris  on 
employment. 

Pros.  Sweet  now,  silence : 

Juno  and  Ceres  whisper  seriously; 
There's  something  else  to  do :  hush,  and  be  mute. 
Or  else  our  spell  is  marr'd. 

Iris.  You   nymphs,  call'd    Naiads,  of  the  wandering 
brooks. 
With  your  sedged  crowns  and  ever-harmless  looks. 
Leave  your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  green  land 
Answer  your  summons;  Juno  does  command. 
Come,  temperate  nymphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 
A  contract  of  true  love ;  be  not  too  late. 

Enter  certain  Nymphs. 

You  sun-burn'd  sicklemen,  of  August  weary. 
Come  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry ; 
Make  holiday:  your  rye-straw  hats  put  on. 
And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  country  footing. 

Enter  certain  Reapers,  properly  habited :  they  join  with 
the  Nymphs  in  a  graceful  dance,  towards  the  ejid  whereof 
Prospero  starts  suddenly  and  speaks ;  after  which,  to  a 
strange,  hollow,  and  confused  noise,  they  heavily  vaiiish. 

Pros.  I  had  forgot  that  foul  conspiracy 
Of  the  beast  Caliban  and  his  confederates 
Against  my  life ;  the  minute  of  their  plot 
Is  almost  come.     Well  done;  avoid;  no  more. 


258  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Fer.  This  is  strange:  your  father's  in  some  passion 
That  works  him  strongly. 

Mir.  Never  till  this  day 

Saw  I  him  touch'd  with  anger  so  distemper'd. 

Pros.  You  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  moved  sort, 
As  if  you  were  dismay 'd  :  be  cheerful,  sir ; 
Our  revels  now  are  ended.     These  our  actors. 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air; 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself. 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. — Sir,  I  am  vex'd ; 
Bear  with  my  weakness ;  my  old  brain  is  troubled. 
Be  not  disturb'd  with  my  infirmity. 
If  you  be  pleased,  retire  into  my  cell, 
And  there  repose;  a  turn  or  two  I'll  walk 
To  still  my  beating  mind. 

Fer.,  Mir.  We  wish  you  peace.    \_Exit. 

Pros.  Come  with  a  thought.     I  thank  thee. — Ariel, 
come. 

Enter  Ariel. 

Ariel.  Thy  thought  I  cleave  to.     What's  thy  pleas- 
ure } 

Pros.  Spirit, 

We  must  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 

Ariel.  Ay,  my  commander:  when  I  presented  Ceres, 
I  thought  to  have  told  thee  of  it ;  but  I  fear'd, 
Lest  I  miorht  anger  thee. 

Pros.  Say   again,  where  didst  thou  leave  these  var- 
lets? 

Ariel.  I  told  you,  sir,  they  were  red-hot  with  drinking  ; 
So  full  of  valour  that  they  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces ;  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet;  yet  always  bending 


THE   TEMPEST  259 

Towards  their  project.     Then  I  beat  my  tabor, 
At  which,  hke  unback'd  colts,  they  prick'd  their  ears, 
Advanced  their  eyehds,  lifted  up  their  noses 
As  they  smelt  music ;  so  I  charmed  their  ears 
That,  calf-like,  they  my  lowing  follow'd,  through 
Tooth'd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss,  and  thorns, 
Which  enter'd  their  frail  shins.     At  last  I  left  them 
r  the  filthy  mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell, 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  the  foul  lake 
O'er-stunk  their  feet. 

Pros.  This  was  well  done,  my  bird ; 

Thy  shape  invisible  retain  thou  still : 
The  trumpery  in  my  house,  go,  bring  it  hither 
For  stale  to  catch  these  thieves. 

Ariel.  I  go,  I  go.       \_Exit. 

Pros.  A  devil,  a  born  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture  can  never  stick ;  on  whom  my  pains. 
Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost; 
And  as,  with  age,  his  body  uglier  grows. 
So  his  mind  cankers.     I  will  plague  them  all, 
Even  to  roaring. — Come,  hang  on  them  this  line. 

Enter  Ariel  laden  with  glistening  apparel,  &c.     Enter 
Caliban,  Stephano,  and  Trinculo,  all  wet. 

Cat.  Pray  you,  tread  softly,  that  the  blind  mole  may 
not  hear  a  footfall :  we  now  are  near  his  cell. 

Ste.  Monster,  your  fairy,  which,  you  say,  is  a  harm- 
less fairy,  has  done  little  better  than  play'd  the  Jack 
with  us. 

Trin.  Monster,  I  do  smell  all  horse-piss ;  at  which 
my  nose  is  in  great  indignation. 

Ste.  So  is  mine.  Do  you  hear,  monster }  If  I  should 
take  a  displeasure  against  you ;  look  you — 

Trin.  Thou  wert  but  a  lost  monster. 

Cal.  Good  my  lord,  give  me  thy  favour  still : 
Be  patient,  for  the  prize  I'll  bring  thee  to 
Shall  hoodwink  this  mischance ;  therefore  speak  softly, 
All's  hushed  as  midnight  yet. 

Trin.  Ay,  but  to  lose  our  bottles  in  the  pool. 


26o  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ste.  There  is  not  only  disgrace  and  dishonour  in  that, 
monster,  but  an  infinite  loss. 

Trin.  That's  more  to  me  than  my  wetting :  yet  this 
is  your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 

Stc.  I  will  fetch  off  my  bottle,  though  I  be  o'er  ears 
for  my  labour. 

Cal.  Prithee,  my  king,  be  quiet.     Seest  thou  here, 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell:  no  noise,  and  enter; 
Do  that  good  mischief  which  may  make  this  island 
Thine  own  forever,  and  I,  thy  Caliban, 
For  aye  thy  foot-licker. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand :  I  do  begin  to  have  bloody 
thoughts. 

Trin.  O  king  Stephano !  O  peer !  O  worthy  Ste- 
phano !  look,  what  a  wardrobe  here  is  for  thee ! 

Cal.  Let  it  alone,  thou  fool:  it  is  but  trash. 

Trin.  Oho,  monster;  we  know  what  belongs  to  a 
frippery:  O  king  Stephano  ! 

Ste.  Put  off  that  gown,  Trinculo ;  by  this  hand,  I'll 
have  that  2:0 wn. 

Trin.  Thy  grace  shall  have  it. 

Cal.  The    dropsy    drown    this   fool !    what   do    you 
mean. 
To  doat  thus  on  such  luggage }     Let's  alone. 
And  do  the  murder  first:  if  he  awake. 
From  toe  to  crown  he'll  fill  our  skins  with  pinches  ; 
Make  us  strange  stuff. 

Ste.  Be  you  quiet  (monster).  Mistress  line,  is  not 
this  my  jerkin  1  Now  is  the  jerkin  under  the  line : 
now,  jerkin,  you  are  like  to  lose  your  hair,  and  prove  a 
bald  jerkin. 

Trin.  Do,  do:  we  steal  by  line  and  level,  an't  like 
your  grace. 

Ste.  I  thank  thee  for  that  jest;  here's  a  garment 
for't ;  wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded  while  I  am  king  of 
this  country.  Steal  by  line  and  level  is  an  excellent 
pass  of  pate  ;  there's  another  garment  for't. 

Trin.  Monster,  come,  put  some  lime  upon  your  fin- 
gers, and  away  with  the  rest. 

Cal.  I  will  have  none  on't:  we  shall  lose  our  time, 


THE    TEMPEST  ~^^ 

And  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villanous  low. 

Ste.  Monster,  lay  to  your  fingers ;  help  to  bear  this 
away,  where  my  hogshead  of  wine  is,  or  I'll  turn  you 
out  of  my  kingdom :  go  to,  carry  this. 

Trin.  And  this. 

Ste,  Ay,  and  this. 

A  noise  of  hunters  heard.  Enter  divers  spirits  in  shape 
of  dogs  and  hounds  Jnmting  them  about;  Prospero 
and  Ariel  setting  them  on. 

Pros.  Hey,  Mountain,  hey ! 

Ariel.  Silver!  there  it  goes.  Silver  I  ,    ,      .  , 

Pros.  Fury  /  Fury !  \herQ,  Tyrant,ihQXQ\  hark,  hark! 
Go,  charge  my  goblins  that  they  grind  their  joints 
With  dry  convulsions ;  shorten  up  their  sinews 
With    aged  cramps,   and   more   pinch  -  spotted    make 

them 
Than  pard,  or  cat  o'  mountain. 

Ariel.  Hark,  they  roar. 

Pros.  Let  them  be  hunted  soundly.     At  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies : 
Shortly  shall  all  my  labours  end,  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  at  freedom :  for  a  little 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  \Exeunt. 


ACT  V 

Scene  \.— Enter   Prospero  {in  his  magic  robes)  and 

Ariel. 

Pros.  Now  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head  : 
My  charms  crack  not ;  my  spirits  obey ;  and  Time 
Goes  upright  with  his  carriage.     How's  the  day  ? 

Ariel.  On  the  sixth  hour ;  at  which  time,  my  lord, 
You  said  our  work  should  cease. 

Pros.  I  ^i^  ^^y  ^'^' 

When  first  I  raised  the  tempest.     Say,  my  spirit, 
How  fares  the  king  and  his  followers  ? 


262  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Ainel.  Confined  together 

In  the  same  fashion  as  you  gave  in  charge  ; 
Just  as  you  left  them ;  all  prisoners,  sir, 
In  the  lime-grove  which  weather-fends  your  cell. 
They  cannot  budge  till  you  release.     The  king. 
His  brother,  and  yours,  abide  all  three  distracted ; 
And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them. 
Brimful  of  sorrow  and  dismay  ;  but  chiefly 
Him  that  you  term'd,  sir,  The  good  old  lord,  Gonzalo ; 
His  tears  run  down  his  beard  like  winters  drops 
From  eaves  of   reeds :  your  charm  so  strongly  works 

'em 
That,  if  you  now  beheld  them,  your  affections 
Would  become  tender. 

Pros.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit  } 

Ariel.  Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 

Pros.  And  mine  shall. 

Hast  thou,  w^iich  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 
Of  their  afflictions  ?  and  shall  not  myself, 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply, 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  moved  than  thou  art  ? 
Thous^h  with  their  hiorh  wrons^s  I  am  struck  to  the 

quick. 
Yet,  with  my  nobler  reason,  'gainst  my  fury 
Do  I  take  part :  the  rarer  action  is 
In  virtue  than  in  vengeance:  they,  being  penitent, 
The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 
Not  a  frown  further.     Go,  release  them,  Ariel ; 
My  charms  I'll  break,  their  senses  I'll  restore, 
And  they  shall  be  themselves. 

Ariel.  I'll  fetch  them,  sir.  \^Exit. 

Pros.  Ye  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes,  and 
groves, 
And  ye  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him 
When  he  comes  back ;  you  demy-puppets,  that 
By  moonshine  do  the  green-sour  ringlets  make, 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites ;  and  you,  whose  pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight-mushrooms ;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew,  by  whose  aid 


THE    TEMPEST  263 

(Weak  masters  though  ye  be)  I  have  bedimm'd 

The  noontide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutnious  winds, 

And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azured  vault 

Set  roaring  war  :  to  the  dread  ratthng  thunder 

Have  I  given  fire,  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 

With  his  own  bolt :  the  strong-based  promontory 

Have  I  made  shake ;  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 

The  pine  and  cedar.     Graves,  at  my  command, 

Have  waked  their  sleepers ;  oped  and  let  'em  forth 

By  my  so  potent  art.      But  this  rough  magic 

I  here  abjure;  and,  when  I  have  required 

Some  heavenly  music  (which  even  now  I  do) 

To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  that 

This  airy  charm  is  for,  I'll  break  my  staff, 

Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 

And,  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound, 

I'll  drown  my  book.  {^Solemn  music. 

Here  enters  Ariel  before ;  then  Alonzo,  W//^  a  frantic 
gesture,  attended  by  Gonzalo  ;  Sebastian  and  Anto- 
NIG  in  like  manner,  attended  by  Adrian  and  Fran- 
cisco. They  all  enter  the  circle  which  Prospero  had 
made,  and  there  stand  charmed;  which  Prospero  ob- 
serving, speaks. 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 

To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains, 

Now  useless,  boil'd  within  thy  skull !     There  stand, 

For  you  are  spell-stopp'd. 

Holy  Gonzalo,  honourable  man. 

Mine  eyes,  even  sociable  to  the  show  of  thine. 

Fall  fellowly  drops.     The  charm  dissolves  apace ; 

And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night. 

Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 

Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 

Th^ir  clearer  reason.     Oh,  good  Gonzalo, 

My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir 

To  him  thou  follow'st ;   I  will  pay  thy  graces 

Home,  both  in  word  and  deed.     Most  cruelly 

Did  thou,  Alonzo,  use  me  and  my  daughter: 


264  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act ; 

Thou'rt  pinch'd  for't  now,  Sebastian.     Flesh  and  blood, 

You  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 

Expell'd  remorse  and  nature ;  who  with  Sebastian 

(Whose  inward  pinches  therefore  are  most  strong) 

Would  here  have  kilFd  your  king ;   I  do  forgive  thee, 

Unnatural  though  thou  art!     Their  understandino: 

Begins  to  swell ;  and  the  approaching  tide 

Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores 

That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy.     Not  one  of  them 

That  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me.     Ariel, 

Fetch  me  the  hat  and  rapier  in  my  cell ; 

I  will  disease  me,  and  myself  present 

As  I  was  sometime  Milan  :  quickly,  spirit. 

Thou  shalt  ere  long  be  free. 

[Ariel  smgs,  and  helps  to  attire  him. 

SONG. 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I ; 

In  a  cmuslip  bell  I  lie : 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly. 

After  summer,  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 

Pros.  Why,  that's    my  dainty   Ariel ;    I    shall   miss 
thee ; 
But  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom :  so,  so,  so — 
To  the  king's  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art. 
There  shalt  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  hatches;  the  master  and  the  boatswain, 
Being  awake,  enforce  them  to  this  place ; 
And  presently,  I  prithee. 

Ariel.  I  drink  the  air  before  me  and  return 
Or  ere  your  pulse  twice  beat.  \_Exit. 

Gon.  All  torment,  trouble,  wonder,  and  amazement 
Inhabits  here.    Some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Out  of  this  fearful  country  ! 

Pros.  Behold,  sir  king, 

The  wronged  Duke  of  Milan,  Prospero. 


Plate  34 
THE  SPELL 

Tlie  Tempest,  act  v.,  scene  i. 


a^' 


THE    TEMPEST  265 

For  more  assurance  that  a  living  prince 
Does  now  speak  to  thee,  I  embrace  thy  body ; 
And  to  thee  and  thy  company  I  bid 
A  hearty  welcome. 

Alon.  Whe'r  thou  be'st  he  or  no 

Or  some  enchanted  trifle  to  abuse  me, 
As  late  I  have  been,  I  not  know :  thy  pulse 
Beats  as  of  flesh  and  blood :  and,  since  I  saw  thee, 
The  affliction  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which, 
I  fear,  a  madness  held  me :  this  must  crave 
(And  if  this  be  at  all)  a  most  strange  story. 
Thy  dukedom  I  resign,  and  do  entreat 
Thou  pardon  me  my  wrongs.     But  how  should  Pros- 

pero 
Be  living,  and  be  here  ? 

Pros.  First,  noble  friend, 

Let  me  embrace  thine  age,  whose  honour  cannot 
Be  measured  or  confined. 

Qon.  Whether  this  be 

Or  be  not,  I'll  not  swear. 

Pros.  \o\\  do  yet  taste 

Some  subtleties  o'  the  isle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe  things  certain.     Welcome,  my  friends  all ; 
But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were  I  so  minded 
I  here  could  pluck  his  highness'  frown  upon  you. 
And  justify  you  traitors:  at  this  time 
I  will  tell  no  tales. 

Seb.  The  devil  speaks  in  him. 

Pros.  No : 

For  you,  most  wicked  sir,  whom  to  call  brother 
Would  even  infect  my  mouth,  I  do  forgive 
Thy  rankest  fault ;  all  of  them ;  and  require 
My  dukedom  of  thee,  which,  perforce,  I  know 
Thou  must  restore. 

Alon.  If  thou  be'st  Prospero, 

Give  us  particulars  of  thy  preservation ; 
How  thou  hast  met  us  here,  who  three  hours  since 
Were  wreck'd  upon  this  shore  ;  where  I  have  lost 
(How  sharp  the  point  of  this  remembrance  is  !) 
My  dear  son  Ferdinand. 


266  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Pros.  I  am  woe  for't,  sir. 

Alon.  Irreparable  is  the  loss ;  and  Patience 
Says  'tis  past  her  cure. 

Pros.  I  rather  think 

You  have  not  sought  her  help ;  of  whose  soft  grace, 
For  the  like  loss,  I  have  her  sovereign  aid. 
And  rest  myself  content. 

Aloii.  You  the  like  loss  ? 

Pros.  As  great  to  me,  as  late  ;  and  supportable 
To  make  the  dear  loss  have  I  means  much  weaker 
Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you ;  for  I 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Alon.  A  dauo-hter? 

Oh,  heavens !  that  they  were  living  both  in  Naples, 
The  king  and  queen  there !  that  they  were,  I  wish 
Myself  were  mudded  in  that  oozy  bed 
Where  my  son  lies.     When  did   you  lose  your  daugh- 
ter ? 

Pros.  In  this  last  tempest.     I  perceive  these  lords 
At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire 
That  they  devour  their  reason ;  and  scarce  think 
Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth  :  their  words 
Are  natural  breath.     But  howsoe'er  you  have 
Been  justled  from  your  senses,  know  for  certain 
That  I  am  Prospero,  and  that  very  duke 
Which  was  thrust  forth  of  Milan  ;  who  most  strangely 
Upon  this  shore,  where  you  were  wreck'd,  was  landed, 
To  be  the  lord  on't.     No  more  yet  of  this  ; 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  this  first  meeting.     Welcome,  sir; 
This  cell's  my  court.     Here  have  I  few  attendants, 
And  subjects  none  abroad.      Pray  you,  look  in. 
My  dukedom,  since  you  have  given  me  again, 
I  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing ; 
At  least  bring  forth  a  wonder,  to  content  ye 
As  much  as  me  my  dukedom. 


Plate  35 

MIRANDA   AND    FERDINAND 

The  Tempest,  act  v.,  scene  i. 


THE    TEMPEST  267 

Here    Prospero    discovers    Ferdinand    and   Miranda 
playing  at  chess. 

Mir.   Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

p^y^  No,  my  dearest  love, 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

Mir.  Yes,  for    a    score    of    kingdoms    you    should 
wrangle. 
And  I  would  call  it  fair  play. 

Alon.  If  this  prove 

A  vision  of  the  island,  one  dear  son 
Shall  I  twice  lose. 

Seb.  A  most  high  miracle  ! 

Fer.  Though  the  seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful. 
I  have  cursed  them  without  cause. 

Alon.  Now  all  the  blessings 

Of  a  glad  father  compass  thee  about ! 
Arise,  and  say  how  thou  cam'st  here. 

j^ly^  Oh,  wonder ! 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here ! 
How  beauteous  mankind  is  !  Oh,  brave  new  world 
That  has  such  people  in't ! 

Pros.  'Tis  new  to  thee. 

Alon.  What   is  this  maid,  with  whom  thou  wast  at 
play } 
Your  eld'st  acquaintance  cannot  be  three  hours. 
Is  she  the  goddess  that  hath  sever'd  us, 
And  brought  us  thus  together } 

p^^^  Sir,  she  is  mortal ; 

But,  by  immortal  Providence,  she's  mine. 
I  chose  her  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice ;  nor  thought  I  had  one.     She 
Is  the  daughter  to  this  famous  Duke  of  Milan, 
Of  whom  so  often  I  have  heard  renown, 
But  never  saw  before ;  of  whom  I  have 
Received  a  second  life ;  and  second  father 
This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 

Alon.  I  am  hers. 

But  oh,  how  oddly  will  it  sound,  that  I 
Must  ask  my  child  forgiveness ! 


2  68  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Pros.  There,  sir,  stop. 

Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances  with 
A  heaviness  that's  gone. 

Gon.  I  have  inly  wept, 

Or   should    have    spoke    ere    this.     Look    down,   you 

gods, 
And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown  ; 
For  it  is  you  that  have  chalk'd  forth  the  way 
Which  brought  us  hither! 

Aloii.  I  say  Amen,  Gonzalo. 

Goii.  Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan  that  his  issue 
Should  become  kings  of  Naples  ?     Oh,  rejoice 
Beyond  a  common  joy  ;  and  set  it  down 
With  gold  on  lasting  pillars.     In  one  voyage 
Did  Claribel  her  husband  find  at  Tunis ; 
And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife 
Where  he  himself  was  lost ;   Prospero  his  dukedom 
In  a  poor  isle  ;  and  all  of  us,  ourselves, 
When  no  man  was  his  own. 

Aloii.  Give  me  your  hands. 

Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  his  heart 
That  doth  not  wish  you  joy  ! 

Go7t.  Be  it  so  !  Amen  ! 

Re-enter  Ariel,  with  the  Master  rt;w^  Boatswain  amazedly 

following. 

Oh,  look,  sir  !  look,  sir !  here  are  more  of  us ! 
I  prophesied  if  a  gallows  were  on  land 
This  fellow  could  not  drown.     Now,  blasphemy. 
That  swear'st  grace  o'erboard,  not  an  oath  on  shore  } 
Hast  thou  no  mouth  by  land }     What  is  the  news  } 

Boats.  The  best  news  is  that  we  have  safely  found 
Our  king  and  company ;  the  next,  our  ship. 
Which  but  three  glasses  since  we  gave  out  split, 
Is  tight  and  yare,  and  bravely  rigg'd  as  when 
We  first  put  out  to  sea. 

Ariel.  Sir,  all  this  service 

Have  I  done  since  I  went. 

Pros.  My  tricksy  spirit ! 


THE   TEMPEST  269 

Alon.  These  are  not  natural  events  ;  they  strengthen 
From  strange  to  stranger.     Say,  how  came  you  hither? 

Boats.   If  I  did  think,  sir,  I  were  well  awake, 
I'd  strive  to  tell  you.     We  were  dead  of  sleep 
And  (how  we  know  not)  all  clapp'd  under  hatches. 
Where,  but  even  now,  with  strange  and  several  noises 
Of  roaring,  shrieking,  howling,  jingling  chains. 
And  more  diversity  of  sounds,  all  horrible, 
We  were  awake'd ;  straightway  at  liberty. 
Where  we,  in  all  our  trim,  freshly  beheld 
Our  royal,  good,  and  gallant  ship,  our  master 
Cap'ring  to  eye  her.     On  a  trice,  so  please  you, 
Even  in  a  dream  were  we  divided  from  them. 
And  were  brought  moping  hither. 

Ariel.  Was't  well  done  ? 

Pros.  Bravely,  my  diligence.     Thou  shalt  be  free. 

Alon.  This  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  e'er  men  trod. 
And  there  is  in  this  business  more  than  nature 
W^as  ever  conduct  of.     Some  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

Pros.  Sir,  my  liege. 

Do  not  infest  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business.     At  pick'd  leisure. 
Which  shall  be  shortly  single,  I'll  resolve  you 
(Which  to  you  shall  seem  probable)  of  every 
These  happen'd  accidents.     Till  when,  be  cheerful 
And  think  of  each  thing  well. — Come  hither,  spirit ; 
Set  Caliban  and  his  companions  free. 
Untie  the  spell. — How  fares  my  gracious  sir  ? 
There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company 
Some  few  odd  lads  that  you  remember  not. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  driving   in    Caliban,  Stephano,  and 
Trinculo  in  their  stolen  apparel. 

Ste.  Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no  man 
take  care  for  himself ;  for  all  is  but  fortune.  Coragio, 
bully-monster  Coragio  ! 

Trin.  If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  my  head, 
here's  a  goodly  sight. 


270  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

Cal.  O  Setebos,  these  be  brave  spirits  indeed  ! 
How  fine  my  master  is  !     I  am  afraid 
He  will  chastise  me. 

Seb.  Ha,  ha ! 

What  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio  ? 
Will  money  buy  'em  ? 

Ant.  Very  like.     One  of  them 

Is  a  plain  fish,  and,  no  doubt,  marketable. 

Pros.  Mark  but  the  badges  of  these  men,  my  lords. 
Then  say  if  they  be  true.     This  misshapen  knave. 
His  mother  was  a  witch  ;  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  flows  and  ebbs, 
And  deal  in  her  command,  without  her  power. 
These  three  have  robbed  me ;  and  this  demi-devil 
(For  he's  a  bastard  one)  had  plotted  with  them 
To  take  my  life.     Two  of  these  fellows  you 
Must  know  and  own ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

Cal.  I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 

Alon.  Is  not  this  Stephano,  my  drunken  butler  .? 

Seb.  He  is  drunk  now.     Where  had  he  wine  ? 

Alon.  And  Trinculo  is  reeling  ripe.    Where  should 
they 
Find  this  grand  liquor  that  hath  gilded  'em  ? 
How  cam'st  thou  in  this  pickle  ? 

Trm.  I  have  been  in  such  a  pickle  since  I  saw  you 
last  that  I  fear  me  will  never  out  of  my  bones.  I  shall 
not  fear  fly-blowing. 

Seb.  Why,  how  now,  Stephano  ? 

Ste.  Oh,  touch   me  not.     I  am  not   Stephano,  but  a 
cramp. 

Pros.  You'd  be  king  of  the  isle,  sirrah  ? 

Ste.  I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

Alon.  This  is  a  strange  thing  as  e'er  I  look'd  on. 

Pros.  He  is  as  disproportion'd  in  his  manners 
As  in  his  shape. — Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell. 
Take  with  you  your  companions :  as  you  look 
To  have  my  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

Cal.  Ay,  that  I  will;  and  I'll  be  wise  hereafter, 
And  seek  for  grace.     What  a  thrice  double  ass 


Platk  36 

PROSPERO   AND   ARIEL 

The  Tempest,  act  v, ,  scene  i. 


THE   TEMPEST  271 

Was  I  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  this  dull  fool ! 

Pros.  Go  to  ;  away  ! 

Alon.  Hence,  and  bestow  your  luggage  where  you 
found  it. 

Seb.  Or  stole  it,  rather. 

Pros.  Sir,  I  invite  your  highness  and  your  train 
To  my  poor  cell,  where  you  shall  take  your  rest 
For  this  one  night ;  which  (part  of  it)  I'll  waste 
With  such  discourse  as,  I  not  doubt,  shall  make  it 
Go  quick  away :  the  story  of  my  life, 
And  the  particular  accidents  gone  by 
Since  I  came  to  this  isle.     And  in  the  morn 
I'll  bring  you  to  your  ship,  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  I  have  hope  to  see  the  nuptial 
Of  these,  our  dear  beloved,  solemnized  ; 
And  thence  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where 
Evegy  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Alon.  I  long 

To  hear  the  story  of  your  life,  which  must 
Take  the  ear  strangely. 

Pros.  I'll  deliver  all. 

And  promise  you  calm  seas,  auspicious  gales. 
And  sail  so  expeditious  that  shall  catch 
Your  royal  fleet  far  off. — My  Ariel — chick — 
That  is  thy  charge.     Then  to  the  elements 
Be  free,  and  fare  thou  well !      Please  you,  draw  near. 

\ExeiLnt  onijies. 

EPILOGUE. 

SPOKEN    BY    PROSPERO. 

Now  my  charms  arc  all  overthrown. 
And  what  strength  I  have's  mine  own. 
Which  is  most  faint :  now  'tis  true 
I  must  be  here  confined  by  you, 
Or  sent  to  Naples.    Let  me  not, 
Since  I  have  my  dukedom  got 
Arid  pardon  d  the  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  island,  by  your  spell ; 


272  COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

But  release  me  from  my  bands 

With  the  help  of  your  good  hands. 
Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
Must  fill,  or  else  my  project  fails. 

Which  was  to  please.   Now  I  wafit 
Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant  ; 
And  my  ending  is  despair, 
Unless  I  be  relieved  by  prayer. 

Which  pierces  so  that  it  assaults 
Mercy  itself,  and  frees  all  faults. 

As  you  from  crimes  would  pardon' d  be. 

Let  your  indulgence  set  me  free.  \Exit. 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


